


Worth Fighting For

by capthamm



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Outlawqueen - Freeform, Slow Build Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Slow Burn, Sports, SwanBeliever, UFC au, captaincobra - freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capthamm/pseuds/capthamm
Summary: Killian "Hook" Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma "The Savior" Swan's career was cut short. When Hook's manager moves up and the office brings in UFC's youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?Captain Swan UFC (MMA Fighting) AU
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 132
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New name, same game! (Former lucyxswann here)
> 
> You can thank quarantine for the influx of fit writing that's been happening around here. Additionally, you can thank Colin's workout selfie for kicking me in the butt on this fic that I've wanted to write for a long time. It's not close to finished so it'll be a slow update but I was getting antsy sitting on it. 
> 
> You do NOT need to know anything about UFC to understand what's happening, but if you have questions let me know! 
> 
> HUGE HUGE thank you to my beta for helping me work out all the kinks and making this ready to post. She gives me an insane amount of confidence I didn't know I could have. #CSSisters 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr and Twitter at capthamm! (See the companion artwork for the piece there too!)

Tap gloves. 

_It’s not like he dreamed of being here._

Fake right hook. 

_Beating the shit out of someone is pretty much one of the only things that keeps Killian Jones numb._

Leg kick to left eye. 

_That and rum._

Elbow. 

_Does anyone really dream of beating the shit out of people for a living?_

Left hook. Humbert stumbles. 

_Will Scarlett aside, he doesn’t think so._

Take down.

_And maybe Jefferson… that bloke’s ring name is literally “Mad”._

Right. Left. Right. Left. Left. 

_He knows there’s good money in MMA, but when he got in a bar fight two—_

Wrestle. Maneuver. Arm bar. 

_—years ago, he never thought it’d lead to this._

Tap tap tap. 

_Showtime._

_Release a tad too late. Don’t help Graham up, let the trainers do it. Run to the side of the cage. Ramp up the fans. Arm raise.  
  
_

“Hook, you just won by submission against The Huntsman. How does it feel to remain undefeated in our _stacked_ featherweight division?”

_Deep breath. Come on, Jones, put on your act for the camera._

“Issac, did you say stacked? Not gonna lie, mate, I’m not sure that term applies to me.” _Well placed smirk._ _Why are the lights so damn bright? He hears the crowd chanting his name, he supposes that’s because he’s on a homer card. Still unreal as ever._

“You’re probably right considering you absolutely dominated that entire match. You’re a latecomer to the sport but continue to make a name for yourself, even against much younger opponents. Is there a secret to all this fast success?”

_Don’t cringe at the mention of your age; they think you want to be here._

“Aye, but if I told you on national television, it wouldn’t be a secret.” _Wink at the camera. Smirk. “_ Thanks for coming out, Boston!” The crowd cheers louder. “I may not have started here but I’ve called this city home for ten years now and I’ll be damned if I let you down.”

_Hook! Hook! Hook! Hook!_

“They love ya, Jones. Great match! Who do you wanna see next?”

 _“No one,_ _I want to get out of this bloody octagon and get some rum.”_

He turns to the exec table, “I’ll take whoever you give me, Gold, no sweat. I’m going all the way to the championship, Issac. I’m in this to win it all.”

_As if there’s another option._

Issac nods enthusiastically at him. Killian is apparently a better actor than he thought. “Great fight, Hook. Well, folks you heard it from the man himself. Killian “Hook” Jones wants the belt—“

Issac’s voice fades away. Killian does his obligatory selfie with his trainers, hugging Robin and heading out of the ring. 

_High five a fan. Selfie. Smirk at the brunette. Autograph. High five. Kiss the redhead’s knuckles. Fist bump._

Once in the locker room, he can finally breathe. Killian scrambles to shower and change, being sure to dodge Robin and August on his way out the door. He knows he’s supposed to stay for the other matches, but it’s been nine years today and he’s not in the fucking mood. 

. . . 

“But, Mooooom, it’s Fight Night!”

“Exactly why you’re off to bed. You’re way too young to be watching that live. I’ll show you highlights in the morning.” Emma has this conversation almost every Saturday night. She can’t blame the kid for liking UFC, he was technically conceived because of it, but nine is way too young and she’s not budging on this. 

“But it’s a super good card!”

Emma rolls her eyes, “Copying what Uncle David says will get you negative points. Bed. Now. Go.”

Henry opens his mouth to argue again, but with one more look from Emma he thinks better and stomps off to bed. Emma laughs to herself knowing he’ll be out like a light in minutes, but she admires his stubbornness. 

Emma finishes cleaning up the kitchen and then wanders in to check on Henry. Just as she suspected, he’s fast asleep with ESPN Magazine splayed across his lap. She shakes her head and smiles at him. Quietly, she moves the magazine, kisses him on the forehead, and shuts off the light, closing the door gently behind her. 

Emma leaves Henry’s room to a knock at the door. As if on cue, David and Mary Margaret let themselves into her apartment with pizzas and a case of beer. After setting down the food, David walks up to Emma and kisses her on the temple. “Hey, sis! Henry asleep already?” 

She scoffs at his lack of subtlety. “Yes, although it seems he had an accomplice in his attempts to stay awake for tonight.” Emma purses her lips knowingly as Mary Margaret slaps David’s shoulder. 

“David! This show is too violent for _adults_ let alone a _nine year old_.” David shrugs and turns to help his wife with the food.

As Emma gets the TV set up, Ruby shows up, barging in with a bottle of red wine and already talking a mile a minute. “Did you _see_ the second match up?! These two are like the men of my _dreams_ . God bless whoever decided Jones and Humbert should duke it out. I mean _honestly,_ Ems, I may need you to turn up the air conditioning.”

Emma laughs at Ruby being… well Ruby. “Rubes, chill. I’m sure the network is fully aware of the ratings the two of them fighting will bring in.” 

Mary Margaret speaks up a little too quickly, “Oh definitely! And both of them are so good, watching them fight sometimes makes me wish you still—“ She trails off at David’s hiss and Emma pretends she doesn’t notice. 

“Alright, the first fight is about to start. Let’s do this.”

Despite being unable— maybe that’s not the right term— unwilling?— to fight anymore, Emma loves watching Fight Night. 

Whenever she’s watching a fight she feels her body move on its own, mimicking their movements and mentally throwing punches and blocks of her own. 

Emma Swan wasn’t good at much of anything, but she was a damn good fighter. 

The first match is an overall bore. Going the entire 15 minutes and not even ending in a unanimous decision. Emma grabs another piece of pizza and the bowl of popcorn— thank god they let her keep the fighter rate for her gym membership— and settles in for the second fight. 

Ruby is not wrong about these two. 

Graham “The Huntsman” Humbert, vs. up and comer, Killian “Hook” Jones. She’s seen Graham around the circuit before, he’s somewhat of a regular face. Never doing _much_ with his career but doing enough not to get kicked from the roster. Killian, she’s only seen fight a few times, but he trains at her gym, supposedly also based out of Boston, so she’s seen him there.

She scoffs to herself. He may have the looks, but he knows it. He approached her once, confidence seeping off of him like sweat:  
  


_“Emma ‘The Savior’ Swan.”_

_Emma whips around at the use of her ring name. Most people at this gym know who she is, but leave her alone to work out and go home. “Yes that’s me.” She looks up at him in hopes of serving him her best ‘get the fuck out of here’ stare, but stutters when she sees how absolutely stunning he is._

_“Stunning, Emma? Really?” She thinks to herself, but then realizes there really isn’t another word for the blue of his eyes… or his British accent._

_“Killian ‘Hook’ Jones.” He puts out his left hand, catching Emma off guard, most fighters being right handed. As if he could read her mind he continues, “You know, for my killer left hook.” He drops her hand with a wink._

_A fucking wink. Who does this guy think he is?_

_“Clever.” Emma knows she’s being icy but she’s almost done with her workout and_ _really_ _doesn’t have time to put up with some cocky new guy._

_“Aye, Gold thought so.” He smirks at her and she rolls her eyes, regretting the satisfaction it gives him immediately._

_“I’m sure he did.”_

_“And why, ‘The Savior’, Swan? I’m not sure I know that back story.” Emma flinches at his bluntness._

_“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She realizes she’s practically flirting before she can stop herself._

_He catches her gaze, “Perhaps I would.”_

_She doesn’t expect such a sincere response._

_Brick meet wall. Hello, darkness, my old friend or something like that._

_“Huh,” she scoffs noncommittally, “Nice to meet you, Jones, but I’ve gotta get back to my work out.”_

_He nods, seeming a bit jilted at her lack of interest. She does her best to keep a straight face at that realization, happy to knock anyone that arrogant down a few pegs. “Aye, Swan, me as well. See you around, love.”_

_She takes a swig from her water bottle and almost chokes at his casual use of the pet name. “_ _Not_ _your love.” He raises his hands in mock surrender and Emma carries on with her day._  
  


Somehow the same man she was insanely annoyed by, has completely entranced her with his fighting style. It’s clean and polished, definitely trained but with this edge of a street fighter which almost seems almost instinctual. 

_Leg kick, elbow, left hook, take down, arm bar, submission._

Humbert didn’t have a chance. 

Jones makes it look too easy. 

Emma is snapped out of whatever spell she was under the moment he opens his mouth to do his interview with Issac, the same cocky asshat she spoke to in the gym now on her TV screen. 

“Wait! I didn’t know he fought for Boston.” Ruby rounds on Emma. “Did you ever see him at the gym?!”

Emma shrugs, “A few times.” She refuses to tell M or Ruby about their conversation, both of them likely to twist it into some UFC enemies to lovers story that makes Emma want to barf. Lucky for Emma the next fight starts and with the sound of “Mad” Jefferson Hatter’s entrance music, and the entire room seems to forget all about Killian “Hook” Jones. 

. . .

Robin finds him cozied up at the bar an hour later. He’s not surprised to see his best friend and coach walk through the door, but he’s not thrilled— knowing the lecture is inevitable. Sometimes he swears Rob forgets they are (practically) the same age and thinks he’s Killian’s pseudo father. 

He sort of is. 

Killian sighs as Robin orders a whiskey and sits down on the stool to his left. 

“Look, Killian, none of us _forgot_ what today is. We just sort of hoped scheduling a fight would be a good distraction.”

Killian polishes off the rest of his rum before signaling for another glass. He rubs his hands over his face, and only slightly winces when he hits the sore spot where Humbert managed to land a right hook. “I know Regina thought that, and it worked for most of the day, but it never bloody lasts. You know that, mate.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m here.”

Killian nods in understanding, his best friend somehow realizing he doesn’t want to be alone tonight before he had. He waves to the bartender and asks for two shots of UV Blue. “To Liam.”

“To Liam.” Robin nods. They clink the shot glasses and throw back the alcohol, both of them wincing at Liam’s favorite drink. “I loved the guy but that shit is repulsive.”

Killian laughs for what feels like the first time in weeks. “Yeah, my brother was good at a lot of things, but he had horrible taste in alcohol.” 

“He’d be so proud of you Killian.”

He scoffs, “Getting drunk at a pub after beating the bloody hell out of someone? Not exactly Purple Heart territory.”

Robin shakes his head in frustration, “You turned your whole life around, actually made something of yourself. I’m sure, in his eyes, that’s as admirable as any award Liam may have earned.”

Killian nods; lacking the energy to argue and emotional stability to hear much more from Rob. 

Robin was Liam’s friend first— that’s probably why he pseudo fathers Killian at all— so Killian knew that, logically, he wouldn’t forget today. 

Sometimes, when you’re in the midst of the darkness, it takes a little reminding that you’re not there alone. 

They nurse their drinks a bit longer, watching the rest of the fights on the pub’s pay-per-view and talking about nothing in particular. Robin is ranting about some shift at Mills Management when Killian practically chokes on his rum, “Wait, wait, wait, did you say Regina got promoted?”

That’s when Robin actually chokes on his whiskey and Killian has to pat his back to clear his throat before he speaks again, “She didn’t tell you yet?!”

Killian shakes his head. “I think that’s something I would’ve remembered, mate.”

“Shit. Regina’s gonna kill me. Yeah, her mom— I mean Cora— promoted her to Director of Management. Apparently they are head hunting prospective managers to replace her now…”

Killian wants to melt into the floor. The entire reason he’s even _in_ the UFC is because of Regina. She bailed him out the night of his “first fight” as she likes to call it, and practically threw him into training the next day— told him that if he was going to harbor all that pent up angst he might as well get paid for it. She signed on as his manager, got him on the Contender Series, and helped him sign a contract with Gold all in six months. Now, almost two years later, he’s fought (and won) 6 times and is consistently looking for ways to repay her (and Robin) for quite literally getting him back on his feet. 

He’s not entirely sure how to do all of this without her. 

He realizes he’s been staring holes into his glass, and turns to Robin. “I can't say I’m thrilled to be losing the best manager I’ve ever had—“

“The only manager you’ve ever had.” Robin adds. 

“Semantics. But I _am_ thrilled for you and Regina. This is good, right?”

Robin sighs what Killian knows is a sigh of relief, “Yeah, mate. _Really_ good. This should allow us to afford Roland’s schooling for pretty much life… not to mention afford the legal fees to make Regina officially his mum.” Killian smiles a genuine smile. Robin’s boy, Roland, deserves everything this world has to offer. He’s been dealt a shitty lot, his mother dying before he could make a single memory of her, so if this move helps him, (even if it was just extra toppings on his Rocky Road) Killian is 100% game. Roland isn’t his, but he’d be lying if he said Uncle Killian doesn’t do some Grinch-level shit to his heart. 

“That’s great, Rob. Truly! And I trust your wife not to saddle me with anyone too crazy.” Killian winks as Rob rolls his eyes. “To Regina!” He raises his glass in the second toast of the night, this one cautiously much happier than the first. 

. . .

Emma gets off the phone and practically slams it on the table in shock. Ruby looks up from her Instagram and stares at Emma like she just got a face tattoo. “What just crawled up your ass?”

“That was Mills Management.”

Ruby rolls her eyes, “Is Zelena _honestly_ still trying to get you to come back? I mean, for real—“

Emma waves her off. “It wasn’t Zelena, it was Regina. Half the conversation felt like it was happening in another universe, so I don’t know all the details, but I think she just offered me a job?”

Ruby squeals so loudly, Granny shushes her from behind the diner counter. Ruby sticks her tongue out at her grandmother who responds by flipping her off. Emma snorts, their relationship being one of the most unconventional she’s witnessed, but still often finding herself envious of their bond. “A job?! Doing what?!”

“Well, managing fighters of course. She’s moving up and needs someone to take over her caseload. They want me to start on Friday.” Emma winces in preparation for Ruby’s yelp. 

“Friday?!” Another shush from Granny. Ruby waves her off over her shoulder. “And you said yes? Obviously you said yes. This could set you up for life _and_ get you back into the UFC world without having to get your shit rocked.”

Emma nods along to Ruby’s rambling. She’s thought all those things in the five seconds she’s had to process this. Her only hang up is Henry. They’ve got a good thing going and she’s not sure what an altered schedule would do. Ruby must see the war raging in her head because she reaches across the table and lays her hand on Emma’s. “We’ll help with Henry, Ms and David are practically dying to spoil him, and I can always pawn him off on Granny.” Ruby winks but Emma can tell she’s being sincere, “You know that, right?”

Emma bites the inside of her lip in a sorry attempt to keep from tearing up. “Yeah. I do.” Ruby smiles and then steals Emma’s phone. 

She punches something in and hands the phone back to Emma. “Good, then tell her you’re in.”

The phone rings three times before Regina picks up. Emma stutters at first but pulls herself together. 

“Hi, uh Mrs. Mills? This is Emma— Emma Swan. I’m in.”

“Excellent, Mrs. Swan. We’ll see you at our offices Friday morning. 9am sharp. You’ll meet your first client then.”

Emma nods and then quickly realizes she has to audibly respond. “Yes Mrs. Mills, I’ll be there. Thank you for the opportuni—“ Regina hangs up before Emma can finish. She looks up to see Ruby with a wolf’s grin. “What?”

“Well, come on!” Ruby is pulling Emma out of the booth before she knows what hit her. 

“Rubes, where are we going?”

Ruby rounds on her, “You can’t wear leggings and a sports bra to work anymore, Emma.” Emma, still a bit frazzled over the completely life changing decision she made in the last five minutes, is a little slow on the uptake. Ruby rolls her eyes, “We’re going shopping!”

Emma sighs, knowing that putting up a fight is a fruitless effort and that maybe Ruby is right anyway. She may not feel prepared but she can at least _look_ prepared. 

She’d be kidding herself if she said she wasn’t terrified, but fear never stopped her from doing things before. If that wasn’t enough, the desire to give Henry his best chance drove her to want to take the position before even hanging up the initial call. With the confidence of a stable life for Henry as her motivation, she’s pretty positive she can do anything. She may not know management, but she knows UFC better than anything, so how hard could it be? 


	2. Chapter 2

Change has never quite worked out in Killian’s favor, and he can’t help the surge of panic which fills his gut at the prospect of opening up to someone new, but he trusts Rob and Regina with his life— basically owes them it— so he’ll show up to this meeting with a nice suit and his best behavior. Regina assured him that it’s someone who knows the business inside and out and has a good reputation within the league. 

He doesn’t really care about all that. He just wants to fight. 

Well… mostly. 

He exits the subway and walks the two blocks to Mill’s Management. He walks through the revolving door into the lobby and takes a deep breath. He’s been here a million and a half times for meetings and holiday parties -even to help out with Roland- but today the air feels thick with anticipation. He greets the receptionist, Anna, briefly, knowing full well if he talks too much he’ll probably be late for his meeting in half an hour. 

She smiles warmly at him, a glint of knowing in her eye. 

He figures she already knows who Regina’s replacement is. His meeting is at 10:30 and he assumes whoever it is was already here for a bit of onboarding beforehand. He nods and walks into the elevator physically and mentally shaking himself into character. Whoever this new manager is, expects cocky, dominating, MMA fighter Killian “Hook” Jones, and not the quiet, broken, human being he really is. 

He knows he’s going to have to tell this person his life story eventually. They need to know everything in order to steer the press in the correct direction as far as questions and features go. They are going to need the highlights as well as the skeletons. It was easy when it was Regina, she’s been there for most of it and heard the rest from Liam, he didn’t really have to  _ tell  _ her anything. 

This is the longest elevator ride of his life. 

When the doors finally open, he exits and is immediately greeted with a thud to his knees. 

“Uncle Killian!!!!!!” He can’t help but chuckle at the lad’s enthusiasm. 

“Hello, Rol.” He slings him over his shoulder with ease. “How’s my favorite lad?”

“I’m fine but mom is waiting for you and she looks stressed. Dad said not to bother her today. Can we get ice cream when you’re done?”

Killian kisses Roland’s temple and sets him down. “Aye, lad. Good call steering clear of your mom this morning. I’ll talk to her about the ice cream though.” He winks as Roland beams and runs back to the room Regina and Robin set up as his place to hang when they had to bring him to work. They try and avoid it whenever they can, but with someone new coming on board, it seems absolutely everyone is in the office. Robin is only a trainer and coach (really has nothing to do with management at all) and even he’s in the corner talking in hushed tones to one of the other managers, Tink.

Killian assumes he’s here as moral support and gives him a nod and wave before heading to Regina’s office. 

The visit from Roland was a mood booster but he’s lost all the confidence and swagger he built up in the elevator. He sighs and quickly snaps back into character. 

He notices her blonde hair as he knocks rhythmically on Regina’s door frame. They’re chatting animatedly about something. Regina looks up, “Good, you’re here. Please take a seat, Killian.”

The blonde turns around at the mention of his name, and when he sees her face, he can’t help but gasp.

. . . 

She hasn’t had to get ready for work since… well since high school. Getting ready for a fight was… different. She had a very specific ritual for fights that did not include the multitude of decisions which are a daily part of working an office job. Today, she had to worry about pant suit vs. skirt suit, heels vs. flats, hair up vs. down, hair curled vs. straightened, and barely there makeup vs. the whole nine yards of makeup. Back when she was fighting, she wore her fight clothes and had her fight hair, and– let’s be real– her minimal fight makeup. Getting ready for a fight was definitely not the same as putting on a monkey suit and a pound of makeup and hoping it’s professional enough for Regina Mills.

Ruby assured her it was. 

She’s not sure what makes Ruby the authority. 

She trusts her anyway. 

Ruby gave her a few different options as far as outfits for her first day, assuring Emma that it would alleviate stress about what to wear. Emma’s not so sure. She tries on the pantsuit first and it feels a bit stuffy so she grabs the second outfit: a charcoal grey pencil skirt, black sleeveless blouse, and a red blazer with low nude heels. As she slips the blazer over her shoulders and flips her hair out from underneath, she feels a surge of confidence she hasn’t felt since the night before a fight. 

At the risk of sounding superstitious, red has always been Emma’s color. From her training jacket to her sports bra to her shorts, she dominated in red and it always sort of stuck. Ruby likes to think it was because of her “impact,” so Emma was not surprised when the red blazer found its way into her cart. 

She promised Ruby she’d send her a picture of whichever outfit she went with so she snaps a quick pic before throwing on some mascara and grabbing her new work tote (also courtesy of Ruby) and heading out the door. 

She practically runs to the subway, almost missing the 8:15 car. Once she gets off at her stop, it takes her walking two blocks in the wrong direction to figure out she’s lost. Practically late at this point, Emma whistles for a cab and ten minutes later arrives in front of the towering building (exactly five minutes early). 

She walks in the front door and is greeted by a bubbly redhead, “Oh my gosh you’re Emma Swan! Mrs. Mills told me you’d be coming but I’m  _ such  _ a huge fan I still wasn’t prepared. Seriously, your KO against Mulan Fa is  _ legendary _ !”

Emma tries to keep up but with how fast this woman talks, she just nods and smiles. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be fangirling. That’s the  _ opposite  _ of professional, but I really can’t help myself. Anna, by the way!” She turns back to her desk and hands Emma a small white card. “Here’s an elevator pass. She’s office number 815. Floor number 8! Room 15! Good luck, hope to see you around here more.”

Emma smiles at Anna and thanks her for her help before stepping onto the elevator. She tries deep breaths to calm her nerves, but finds herself more jittery than before her first fight. 

She swears this is the longest elevator ride of her life. 

She steps off the elevator and is greeted by one of the sleekest offices she’s ever seen in her life. The entire thing is decked out in modern black and white furniture, and accented with UFC red. She has to physically stop herself from audibly gasping. 

She searches for office 15 and is unsurprised to find it in the back corner. Emma takes one more deep breath and knocks on the doorframe. The brunette woman behind the desk looks up and gives Emma a sharp smile. 

“Hello, Miss Swan. Just a moment and I will take you to Sidney in HR.” 

Emma breathes a sigh of relief as she follows her, stopping abruptly behind Regina as she knocks on the doorframe of an office much smaller than hers, “Sidney? This is Miss Swan, she’ll need up with some onboarding. Keep it short, she has a meeting at 10:30 with her first client.” 

He nods enthusiastically with a “Yes Mrs Mills. Of course. Please, Miss Swan, have a seat. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Emma sits down at his request, giving a tight smile to Regina as she heads back to her office. Sidney seems nice enough, maybe a little bit over-infatuated with Regina but nice. She sits at his desk and he immediately starts talking about her onboarding. 

An hour later, Emma is pretty sure this is the best gig in the world. 

The benefits alone make this worth taking for her and Henry, not to mention the pay and perks. As Sidney takes her to her desk, Emma gets a better feel for the layout of the office. She’s not one to feel immediately comfortable, but she can see herself really thriving here and it gives her the confidence she needs to walk into Regina’s office a bit early for the 10:30 meeting with her first client. 

Regina starts chatting with Emma about last Saturday’s Fight Night and it only makes her feel more at ease. It’s rare to find women as well versed in UFC as she is without them practically suffocating her by talking about her stinted career. Regina is recapping Jefferson Hatter’s TKO when she’s interrupted by a rhythmic tapping on the door. 

Emma tenses slightly, realizing this is probably her client. She doesn’t turn around right away as Regina greets the fighter, but ends up whipping around when she hears his name. 

Killian? As in Killian “Hook” Jones. 

Emma finds herself once again physically restraining herself from reacting unprofessionally— she’s pretty sure scoffing and rolling her eyes at her first assignment isn’t a good look. 

He smirks at her knowingly as he enters the room and Emma can’t help but squirm in her seat. 

“Killian, this Emma, Emma Swan. You may remember her from—“

Killian cuts Regina off, “I am well aware of Miss Swan, Regina.” He turns his attention towards her, “Swan, big day today!” 

Regina looks between them like they’re playing at Wimbledon. 

Emma swallows the entirety of her disdain for  _ Hook _ and plasters on her best fake smile. “Yes! Excited to join the team here at Mills Management.” She shakes Killian’s hand for good measure. “And, to be frank, quite honored to be trusted with one of their best up and comers.” She smirks at Killian and she can tell he caught the slight jab. She expects him to back off a bit, but he responds in double. 

“Likewise, Swan. I’m  _ honored _ to be put into the capable hands of such a  _ legend  _ like yourself.” Emma knows Killian is kidding with her, but the legend joke doesn’t sting less. She tries not to react but she catches a wave of understanding flash across Killian’s eyes as he shifts the entire tone of the conversation and addresses Regina instead. 

Maybe he’s not where he thought he’d be either. 

Now is not the time to psychoanalyze her new client. 

“How does that sound, Miss Swan?” She’s snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of Regina addressing her. 

She has no idea what she’s agreeing to, but does so anyway figuring there isn’t much choice either way, “Great! That sounds perfect.” She smiles at the two of them and hopes to God someone recaps this meeting with an email. 

“Fantastic. Well then, as excited as I am to have you both here and working together, I do have other clients to attend to.” Emma nods as her and Jones stand in unison. “Oh and, Killian, why don’t you escort Miss Swan out and give her a bit of a tour—“

“Oh, Mrs. Mills— that’s not—“

“Nonsense, Swan. I insist.” He smirks at her and grazes his hand over the small of her back as he leads her from the office before turning around once more. “Oh, Reg, I almost forgot.”

Reg? A bit informal— actually, a _ lot _ informal. 

Regina looks like she may turn as red as the apples on her desk at the nickname but answers him all the same, “Yes, Jones, what is it?” 

“The lad wants ice cream.” Killian shoots a shit eating grin first at Emma and then to Regina. Emma is entirely confused but “Reg” seems to understand immediately. 

Regina rubs her hands over her temples as she responds, “Fine, but not too late Killian, honestly. And pick  _ one  _ topping. The kid still needs dinner.”

“Aye, aye, your Majesty.” He bows mockingly and if he hadn’t led Emma away so quickly she could’ve sworn she saw Regina flip him off. 

. . . 

Killian is not entirely sure how to process the fact that his new manager is the woman he’s been secretly pining over since the first time he saw her walk into the training center. 

A year ago. 

So Killian does what he does best and throws his fighting persona into full gear, only slipping once when it came to asking about Roland’s ice cream. 

He probably  _ shouldn’t  _ have called her Reg. 

He’ll pay for that later. 

He’s showing Emma the kitchen when she finally interacts with more than just a nod. “So… Reg?”

He cringes and immediately scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick he’s really trying to kick. “Uh, yeah. Regina— Mrs. Mills— and I were close before all this.” He motions to nothing in particular and somehow the entire office at the same time. “She’s sort of the entire reason I’m even here.”

Emma nods; seemingly understanding what he’s leaving strictly between the lines. “Huh, alright then. Guess we have that in common?”

He can’t help but shake his head in disbelief. “Pardon me for being forward, lo— Swan, but I think your track record in the UFC is what got you into the door. I doubt there’s anyone else better qualified who’s not currently fighting.”

Not his love. Bloody hell. 

She responds with a forced smile and he can tell she’s not comfortable with praise. He’s unsettled by the amount of joy learning more about her brings him but also by the fact that he’d give anything to praise her everyday of his life. 

This woman has walls. Great-Wall-of-China walls. 

What he wouldn’t give to start breaking those down. 

He finishes the tour of the office and, with a quick “thanks” and “see you soon”, Emma starts to head back to her desk. He nods in response, not wanting to push too much for one day. 

He wasn’t positive getting a new manager was a good idea, but if it means being even a small part of Emma Swan’s world, he's all for it. Not thirty seconds after she’s returned to her desk, Killian pulls out his phone to send her an email before finding Roland for their ice cream run. 

. . . 

Emma sits down at her desk slightly overwhelmed by everything thrown her way in the last— what time is it? Noon?— 3 hours: a rad new job with amazing pay and benefits, a seemingly level-headed and fair boss, a grossly complicated new client who seems to be more than meets the eye, the feeling that shot through her spine at said client’s touch… 

Do people say  _ rad  _ anymore? 

Why does she care that he touched her back?

She doesn’t. 

She grounds herself by logging into the computer.

Bad idea. 

She’s immediately bombarded with email notifications. Most of them involve onboarding or her one-on-ones she’s to have with each member of the staff. 

It takes her 45 minutes but she eventually gets to the top where she finds an unexpected email from her newest (and she supposes only) client. 

_ Swan, _

_ Pleasure to be reacquainted with you today. I look forward to our blossoming partnership.  _

_ You looked a tad far away in our meeting with Regina so I figured I’d recap what you agreed to.  _ _ Twice weekly one-on-ones between you and I to discuss promotions as well as social media and desired fights, to be scheduled at our leisure.  _ _ Also attendance at each Fight Night for which I am on the card (comp’d by the company, obviously).  _

_ I hope all of this isn’t too overwhelming, feel free to text, call, or email to set up our first meeting.  _

_ 555-235-8872 _

_ I assure you, I am looking forward to it.  _

_ K _

_ Killian “Hook” Jones  
_ _ UFC Featherweight  
_ _ Mills Management _

Emma snorts– the email sounds like it was written by a thesaurus. As she re-reads for any details she missed, she can’t seem to quell the butterflies in her stomach. The realization that in a mere matter of minutes Killian was able to read her that well is comforting– no… unsettling? This  _ stranger _ somehow picked up on her disdain for being referred to as a legend almost immediately, backing off and changing the subject promptly. Not to mention he could tell she was distant in the meeting and followed up with an email  _ just  _ like she wanted. 

She brushes off the entire thing to pure coincidence and ignores the voice in the back of her head that is telling her they may turn out to be a pretty good team. 

(It doesn’t help that this voice sounds a lot like a certain British fighter she just spent an hour and a half with.)

Emma finishes her work day with a barrage of meetings and paperwork. She was wary to start on a Friday, but after the rollercoaster day she’s had, she’s grateful for two days to recharge. Before logging off for the day, she pulls Killian’s email up once more and reluctantly programs his cell phone number into hers. 

For emergencies obviously. 

She also responds to the email, keeping it as friendly and professional as possible:

_ Killian, _

_ Thank you for the recap. Let’s plan on meeting first thing Monday morning. I will reserve a conference room at 9am.  _

_ In case of emergencies, here is my cell: (555)-265-2335.  _

_ Have a nice weekend. See you Monday.  _

_ Emma _

_ Emma Swan  
_ _ Talent Manager  
_ __ Mills Management   
_ eswan@millsmanage.com  
_ __ (555) 265-2335

She hits send, logging off her computer and booking it to the subway while trying not to dwell on Killian Jones and their work mandated bi-weekly meetings. 

Or the way his hand felt pressed against her back. 

Definitely not that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support on the last chapter! I am equally as excited about this fic and your excitement is keeping me going. Huge thanks once again to my beta. She's the reason this is even rocking so hard! :) 
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr at capthamm!!!


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday night brings their monthly movie/game night and Emma has never been more grateful for a distraction. Ruby and the Nolans will come over around 6 o’clock and Henry is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Tonight’s theme is Star Wars and this will be Henry’s official introduction to the series; at David’s insistence they’re starting with A New Hope and going release order from there. They’re also going to play Star Wars trivia which Henry will undoubtedly suck at. 

Should be a fun night all around. 

And it was, until Henry went to bed and the “adults” got to talking.

Ruby cracks another beer and turns to Emma, “So, Emma, you’ve got probably the coolest new job in the world and you haven’t said jack shit.” 

She shoots Ruby an icy glare as David and MM stop bickering over whether or not Kylo Ren deserved a redemption arc to hear what Emma has to say. 

Emma sighs, “It’s going alright. All the onboarding is underway and between the perks, benefits, and pay, Henry should be set for life.” She’s been fortunate to live off her winnings for the past nine years, being mindful of money and not giving into the lifestyle of frivolous spending many fighters take on, but -even her friends know- she doesn’t have a money tree. 

The looks on their faces when she mentions Henry being set for life could melt 1000 Olafs. When she arrived at Ruth Nolan’s home at the age of 16, she never expected to find a family. Hardened by a life too lived for anyone her age, Emma assumed they’d be like every other foster home and use her for the money. To this day, she’s never been so happy to be wrong. 

Emma’s not sure what twist of fate landed an orphan with such a great support system, but she’ll be forever grateful. David took to the “protective brother” role immediately. Soon after Emma moved in, he met Mary Margaret (fireworks and butterflies and all that mumbo jumbo) who introduced them to Ruby. They’re small, and maybe a bit scrappy, but they’re family. 

She breaks out of her thoughts and returns to the present, “I will need some babysitting though; I’m required to attend each of my client’s Fight Nights. But overall it’s great, really!” 

She hopes she squeaked away without having to mention Jones at all but the glint in Ruby’s eye tells her otherwise. “Ok that’s all fine and dandy,” Mary Margaret shoots Ruby an incredulous look, warning her to tread carefully, but Ruby ignores her and continues, “but _who’s_ the client?”

David is giving her a protective father vibe, Ms is practically vibrating, and she's pretty sure Ruby is salivating. Emma sighs realizing she shouldn’t postpone the inevitable, “Killian Jones.” 

Ruby practically drops her drink and Mary Margaret squeals, David rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV where SportsCenter has been playing in the background. Mary Margaret beats Ruby to the punch, “THE Killian Jones?! As in Killian “Hook” Jones?!” 

Emma nods, standing up to refill the only slightly empty chip bowl in front of her. She _knew_ this was going to happen and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to her friends thirsting over her client– client… right. 

Ruby speaks next, “Well that is probably the _best_ case scenario. Do you think he can get us tickets? Have you _met_ him? Is he as _gorgeous_ in person as he is on TV? Can _we_ meet him?”

Emma, now glad she’s in the kitchen with space to breathe, is starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. She knows Ms can sense it and is unsurprised when she speaks next,“For Christ’s sake Ruby let her breathe. She’s probably only had her initial meeting with him.” 

Ruby seems to get the hint and it doesn’t take long before Ms is in the kitchen helping Emma pick up the leftover pizza, “We’re happy for you, Emma. He’s a huge client for them, they obviously trust you to do a good job.” Emma nods in thanks and they both head back into the living room.  
  
Her sister-in-law’s warmth always calms her (and Ruby) down which allows David to jump in and change the subject to the coverage of some football player’s arrest on SportsCenter. Emma finally catches a breath and realizes just how lucky she is for the friend dynamic they have before settling in to debate if this James Spencer kid should still be eligible for the draft. 

As she lays in bed that night, Ms’ words ring through her head. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions she’s been feeling, Killian _is_ a huge client, one that was formerly represented by a namesake for the company. This re energizes her a bit and helps her fall asleep, actually excited for what's to come. 

She wakes up Sunday morning and makes Henry some pancakes and declares it a lazy Sunday. Henry happily obliged, cuddling up on the couch with The Deathly Hallows while Emma threw on some shitty reality TV. 

. . .  
  
When her alarm rings Monday morning, Emma pulls her pillow over her head like some teenager from one of those Disney Channel movies. 

It takes her a second to remember what day it is and why she’s up at this godforsaken hour. 

Killian Jones. Right. 

She audibly groans before rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day. Between her shower and breakfast she gets Henry up. School starts at 8 so he’s technically running a bit behind but he’ll make it on the bus in time… hopefully. 

She’s pouring him a bowl of cereal when he comes out of his room zipping up his sweater and rubbing his eyes. 

“Hey, kid. Coco Puffs or Fruit Loops?” He mumbles some semblance of what she thinks is Fruit Loops so she pours the bowl and slides it across the kitchen island. He smiles in thanks as she pours her own bowl and sits beside him. 

“So today’s the big day?”

She didn’t tell Henry about her new client and when she spoke to the Nolan’s and Ruby, he was definitely supposed to be sleeping. “How could you possibly know that?”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are and I’m not as tired as you think I am.” He yawns as if to punctuate his point. 

“Uh huh, sure, kid.” He gives her a knowing glance and she realizes she’s not getting out of this. She runs her hands over her face and sighs, “Yes, today is the first meeting and I’m only slightly nervous to fu— screw this whole thing up.”

Henry chuckles at her attempted censorship (she never said she was a perfect parent), “You’ll be great, Mom, and Hook seems like a decent enough guy. I’m sure he won’t give you too much trouble.”

She stares at Henry a bit dumbfounded. It shocks her everyday how old he’s getting– nine going on nineteen for sure. “Are you hiding some Weasley’s Extendable Ears in your room or something? Are you a wizard? Should you be at Hogwarts?” Emma is very obviously trying to derail this conversation but it works, setting Henry off about how he’s finally on the sixth book and explaining the concept of a horcrux. 

Oh, her sweet summer child. 

God, maybe he is old enough for UFC. 

When did that happen? 

She ushers Henry to the bus, promising him they’ll watch the sixth movie tonight _if_ he finishes the book today and is to school on time. It’s only September and he can’t be late three times in the first month of school. She kisses his forehead and he wishes her good luck. 

Sometimes she wonders how such a screw up ended up with the perfect kid. 

After cleaning up the kitchen, Emma finishes getting ready. She jumps on the subway and finds herself at the office with a half hour to spare. She’s _never_ early so she chalks it up to nerves and uses the time to prep for this meeting. 

Over the weekend she received multiple emails from Gold’s team surrounding a possible spot for Killian on the card for the pay-per-view Fight Night in November. 

A pay-per-view card. She did enough research about Killian this weekend to know that would be his first. 

Emma feels like she’s been thrown into the deep end before being taught how to swim. 

Go big or go home. 

She did a _lot_ of research about Killian and learned practically nothing. She knows he came here from London almost ten years ago and that his team includes his head trainer Robin (husband of now former manager Regina Mills), and three other men named Will Scarlett, August Booth, and William Smee (he’s really selling it with that whole _Hook_ theme). Other than that all she found was his record and highlights. He’s 6-0 which is insane for only being in the circuit for a year and a half– fighters are usually limited to three, maybe four fights a year. 

4 of his 6 are knockouts. 

He’s good… really good. 

Her thoughts are interrupted by a light tapping on the edge of her cubicle. She glances up to find none other than the man himself. She can’t help but double take. 

Real professional, Emma. 

She's only ever seen him in the ring, at the gym, or dressed up for a business meeting. She’s not sure what she expected, but a leather jacket and pants that fit him like his own skin _definitely_ weren’t it. 

He looks good… really good. 

Emma snaps herself out of it, “Hi, Mr. Jones, just give me a moment and we can head to the conference room.”

“It’s Killian, love, please.” She notices he winces at the seemingly habitual pet name. Emma ignores the ring of disappointment that runs through her gut at the realization that it may not be reserved for her. “A conference room’s a bit formal, don’t you think? Let’s get out of here, Swan.” 

He grabs her hand before she can answer. “Mr.— Killian. Is this allowed?”

He chuckles. “We can plan the meetings _at our leisure_ ,” he says the last bit in an almost scary imitation of Regina, “but even still, Regina and I never met in office. A bit silly for two people to take up an entire conference room, yeah? Come on, lass, try something new. It’s called trust.” 

Emma rolls her eyes but follows along anyway. The elevator ride should’ve been awkward but Killian kept the conversation flowing by asking her preferred drink. “Coffee, tea, or smoothies?”

Despite the risk of sounding like a child, Emma finds herself being honest with him, “Uhh, I actually prefer hot chocolate… with cinnamon.”

He smiles brightly at her, as though her drink order was the most brilliant discovery this century, “Perfect, Swan. I know just the place.”

She was so swept up in his ambush, she doesn’t realize that this _isn’t_ the cocky, asshat Killian Jones she sees on tv or at the gym until he’s practically dragging her across the street to a small cafe. This Killian seems genuine and carries this almost childlike excitement.

Emma tells herself she has no interest in learning more about this Killian.

(Emma doesn’t have to tell herself that that is complete bullshit.)

. . .

He can’t stop himself from beaming when she offers up her drink order without hesitation. Killian feels like a bloody teenager around her. He promised himself he wouldn’t feel this way again, but something about Emma Swan has completely entranced him. 

He finds himself fascinated with every part of her, including the small things, like the fact she takes cinnamon on her hot chocolate. 

Once they get to the cafe across the street, Killian forces himself to dial it back. He can tell she’s guarded and as much as he’d like to be friends (more than friends) with the lass, he knows business has to come first. 

It wouldn’t exactly be a good look for him if he ran “The Savior” out of the office on her second day. 

Somehow he thinks he doesn’t have that power.

He’d like to. (Obviously not to run her out of the office, but he’d like his existence to mean that much to her.)

Bloody hell, he's being ridiculous. 

They sit down across from each other at a small table by the window. He expects to start the conversation but before he can form a coherent thought she’s speaking. 

“So, Killian. I’ve already received some correspondence from Gold’s team. I’m not sure how much time you usually take between fights and I know it’s already the end of September but…”

She’s rambling and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anybody so adorable when they’re nervous. 

Adorable is not a professional descriptor. 

Killian Jones doesn’t want “professional” with Emma Swan. 

Fuck. 

“...Gold is hoping to get you on the main card for November 14th.” 

Did she just say main card? 

He chokes on his coffee.

“Main card, Swan? I’ve never been on the main card. Strictly early prelims…”

She eyes him suspiciously, “Usually that’s a _good_ thing. Upward momentum and all that. His team is clearly impressed by your dominant record.”

“Is his team the only one impressed?” The flirt escapes him before he can stop it. 

Bloody idiot. 

She doesn’t even bat an eye, “The entire league seems to be impressed, Jones.” Her tone tells him she knows what just happened but she shut it down immediately. 

He likes a challenge. 

Emma Swan may be his favorite challenge yet. 

Emma Swan is off limits, but Killian will be damned if he cares. 

. . . 

Emma is surprised when Killian pays for their drinks despite her insistence that she can charge it to Mills Management. She’s also surprised by how _nice_ he is. 

She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

She’s still waiting. 

He’s definitely flirtatious, every other sentence being easily twisted into some sort of innuendo, but she can tell it’s a front. The little things he does like tipping the barista an extra fifty cents or holding the door for her, let on to the man behind the persona. 

Well, and the fact he practically chokes when she tells him they want him for the main card.

He seems genuinely shocked that _anyone_ would be impressed by him. His mask comes out almost immediately, another innuendo laced into his question. She doesn’t let him go there, shutting it down as quickly as it started. For this to work, she needs _him_ the _real him_. Not the cocky MMA fighter who he used to catch the eye of UFC execs. She compliments him, and it’s beyond genuine. That seems to calm his nerves a bit as they move into social media management and he shifts into a professionalism she’s not entirely prepared for. 

She’s not sure she wants professional Killian Jones. 

Whoa, Emma, pump the breaks. 

She shakes it off as she watches him take notes on what she’s saying about the importance of a lead up on Twitter and how it can set the tone for the entire fight. His tongue runs along the inside of his lower lip as he concentrates and she can’t help the overwhelming wave of attraction that hits her. 

Like lightning. 

It’s not just the tongue, (but that’s not helping) it’s his dedication to this sport and how he actually gives a fuck about what she’s saying. Killian never displayed even a hint of the deeply rooted misogyny that runs rampant throughout the industry. He actually seems almost humbled by her presence. The words escape her mouth before she can’t stop them, “Why are you actually taking anything I say seriously?” 

Very professional, Emma. Way to instill confidence in your client. Smooth. 

His head snaps up at her abrupt question and he looks confused. “I know you don’t like being called a legend, Swan, but you were a damn good fighter. If I walk out of this partnership with _half_ the following and success you had, I’d call that a win.”

She’s stunned by his sincerity.

Brick. Wall. (She thinks she hears Pink Floyd somewhere in the distance.)

“And I suppose you think you know all about me from our, what, three conversations now?” She knows it’s snippy, that’s the point.

He stops typing and puts his phone down. “Pardon me, love, but you’re a bit of an open book.”

Emma scoffs, “Anyone with the internet knows I prefer people don’t call me a legend.”

“Aye, but do they know it’s because you feel too young with a career too short to have made an impact? That you feel choosing yourself, a life, over MMA removes all glory from your name?”

Emma is entirely shaken by his apparent ability to read her like a fucking picture book. (Does that even make sense? Do you read picture books?) Emma never had a formal retirement ceremony; gloves in the middle of the ring and all that. She had asked Gold to be taken off the roster and for a quiet exit and that’s what he’d given her. The public doesn’t know the real reason she left MMA, her attempt at keeping Henry’s life as normal as possible, but somehow Killian–

Brick. Brick. Brick. 

“Let’s talk about Instagram.” She sees the disappointment sweep across his face, realizing she can read him pretty well too. That’s terrifying.

Way more terrifying than social media plans. 

They keep it strictly business for the rest of the meeting. She’s startled when her stomach rumbles and she checks the time. 

12:00. They’ve been strategizing for three hours.

She’s not sure where the time went, and when Killian asks her if she wants to grab a bite to eat together, she’s startled again by her initial gut reaction to say yes. 

Obviously, she says no and makes up some lie about needing to get back to the office. He knows it’s a lie, she can see it all over his face. He doesn’t push her though, and she’s grateful. They set their next meeting and Emma’s heart speeds up, seemingly unaware that this is a business meeting and not a date. She shakes his hand and promises to have a full plan ready for Thursday before practically sprinting out of the cafe. 

In three conversations Killian Jones has gone from asshat to… who knows. One thing Emma does know is that Killian Jones is off limits to the highest of ethical degrees. But what scares her most, is that she’s not entirely sure she cares. 

. . . 

As soon as he asks her to lunch he knows he’s pushed too far. 

Actually, he _perhaps_ pushed too far by letting on just how easy it was for him to read her, but lunch, well that was just asking for a brick wall. He runs his hands across his face, completely taken with someone he has no right to. She’s witty, smart, and could probably kick his ass— scratch that, could _definitely_ kick his ass— but she also has demons, he can see them swimming behind her eyes. Demons that seem scarily similar to his, maybe not on the surface but definitely in their damage. Emma is raw and unapologetic; a real human being who is, for all intents and purposes, unimpressed by the suave persona of Killian “Hook” Jones. 

She’s bloody perfect. 

He’s fucking fucked. 

Eloquent. 

Killian decides to grab a quick lunch from the cafe and head to the gym. He has a lot of pent up frustration and really feels the need to punch something. Thank god that’s his job. He scarfs down his sandwich, not realizing how hungry he was and jumps on the subway to the training center. He miraculously finds a seat and is able to scroll through his phone a bit. As he pokes around Twitter he finds an article announcing Emma “The Savior” Swan’s comeback to the UFC. He clicks on it, curiosity getting the better of him despite probably knowing the gist of the article. 

He didn’t expect a timeline of her _very_ impressive career:

_2008: Swan joins the UFC with her Boston gym. Her debut match against Aurora Rose ended in a TKO. She’s back in action six months later fighting Ella Tremaine. She wins again, this time after three rounds by split decision._

_2009: A dominant start to the year for The Savior with a first round submission against Tiana Dampier in January. She rounded out her year with another first round submission against El Oldenburg in May, and a third round knockout against Esmerelda Gringoire in October._

_2010: Swan goes three rounds with Merida Baer and wins by unanimous decision. Swan wins again after three rounds by split decision against Megara Alcmene. The Savior’s final match is a KO against Mulan Fa rounding out her record to 8-0. Her next match, meant to be for the women’s title, was declined with no comment from The Savior._

2020: Swan joins Mills Management as a talent manager assigned to Killian “Hook” Jones.  
  


Killian knew Swan was good, an early legend in her own right, but he had _no_ idea she was this dominant. He also had no idea she left without so much as a wave goodbye. He figured he’d just missed the announcement seeing as it came well before his introduction into the sport. Against his typical moral code, he tries to google _why_ she left but finds nothing. She knocks out Mulan Fa and then just stops being added to cards and fades away as new fighters take her place. 

He knows there’s a reason for her secrecy and he’d be lying if he said curiosity was the only driving force behind his attempt to learn more. He finds himself wanting to know everything there is to know about Emma Swan; a deeper part of him aches for her to be the one who tells him. 

He’s positive he can only _dream_ of gaining that level of trust from her, but h e has to try. Liam's words ring heavy in his ears, _"A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."_

He gets off at the stop closest to the training center and walks through the front doors, waving to Belle at the front desk before heading into the locker room. He’s fortunate to be on the UFC roster, allowing him to keep his training gear at the center and not have to worry about lugging it around with him. It also gives him the freedom to come here whenever he needs to let off some steam. He changes quickly and finds a treadmill to warm up. He jogs a mile and a half before picking up the pace. Killian’s in the midst of his runner’s high when someone steps into the machine next to him. He turns his head to offer them a small smile in hello, it’s not that big of a gym, exclusive to the UFC industry and a few friends of friends, so chances are he knows the person at least in passing. 

Oh, Killian knows her alright, and he practically falls off the treadmill when he sees green eyes blown wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the sweet words you've given me and this fic! It's coming along slowly but surely... the surely entirely thanks to my lovely beta. Updates after this may be a bit slower but I'm doing my best to keep cranking it out. I planned on this being similar in length as my other fics, but it's turning into a monster of its own. 
> 
> Kudos, comments, and just all around flailing is always appreciated :) Much love! Stay safe!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ capthamm!


	4. Chapter 4

Emma finishes up her work and heads to the subway. She’s doing her best to ignore her obvious frustration with her new client and hopes a quick stop at the gym might clear her mind a bit. She’s grateful that Henry is at Avery’s for some science fair project. She needs this after today. Emma’s got a lot of pent up— something— she needs to work out.  She gets to the gym, gives a tired smile at Belle and heads to the locker room. She changes quickly, grateful they let her keep her locker, and heads towards the treadmills. Emma’s trying to pull up the latest episode of her podcast so she doesn’t pay any mind to who’s using the machine next to her. 

That is until he looks her way. 

Fuck. 

She’s run into Killian here a total of  _ maybe  _ three times before they started “working” together so it only makes total sense that she’d run into him now.  She gives him a forced smile before putting her earbuds in and starting up the treadmill. He seems to get the hint, smiling back and continuing his run.  She’d be lying if she said she didn’t steal a glance or two as she jogged. 

Okay, more than a glance. 

She can’t help it. Watching his chest breathe in and out in a rhythmic pattern that parallels that of his feet pounding against the treadmill. She can’t help but notice the way his jaw ticks every once in a while, surely pushing himself to the full limit, or the beads of sweat that drip from his forehead and disappear beneath the hem of his shirt.  She hasn’t admired another human being like this in a long time– probably ever.  She doesn’t let her mind wander further than that, knowing anywhere else it would travel would be way less than professional. 

She runs.  Mentally and physically. 

She can’t think about him this way and he can’t think about her in any way besides as his manager. So she’ll shut it down now, being professional and curt and not allowing either of them to cross the bright red line that she’s almost positive she’s not the only one close to crossing. 

It’ll be easier this way. 

Killian leaves the treadmill to presumably find a sparring partner and Emma feels like she can breathe freely again. She runs, longer than she ever has, and for a while forgets about anything but the beat of her feet hitting the belt of the treadmill.  When she finishes, Killian is nowhere to be found. She doesn’t allow herself to be disappointed despite the small pang in her gut that tells her she wanted him to wait for her.  She gets back to her locker, showers, and changes. As she walks out of the gym she unlocks her phone to a text from Killian. 

**I didn’t want to break you out of your runner’s high. See you Thursday, Swan.**

She presses the phone to her chest, trying to slow the beat of her heart. The text is innocent, an explanation as to why more pleasantries between co-workers weren’t exchanged.  She won’t let herself think of it as anything else. 

She knows it is. 

Getting on the subway, Emma finds a seat, not answering the text message despite it burning white hot in her pocket the entire way home. 

Henry gets home an hour or so after her. She makes up dinner, he quickly summarizes his day, and smirks as he tells her he did in fact finish the sixth book. She smiles at him and puts in the movie so they can watch as they eat.  It’s really hard to pay attention to a bunch of British kids when a certain British man is taking up the entirety of your mental real estate.  She’s seen the movie at least ten times, but Henry seems to enjoy himself. They both cry when Dumbledore dies and Henry seems newly invigorated to get through the seventh book for their next movie night. The movie finishes way past his bedtime so Emma tucks him in and returns to clean up the kitchen. 

As she does the dishes she feels like she’s on auto pilot, her head spinning over the events of the day. When she finally lays down, she stares at the rotation of her bedroom eiling fan for what feels like hours.  Killian Jones has crept his way into her head and she hates it. 

She finally falls asleep only to wake the next morning and find he’s also crept his way into her dreams. 

She groans into her pillow. Despite her gut telling her this could be  _ good _ , Emma forces herself to end this now. She’s been given an opportunity and she can’t throw it away for some blue-eyed fighter who can read her like a book.  She can’t and she won’t. Henry comes first, and  _ no one  _ is worth risking his future for. 

Emma won’t acknowledge the fact that a lot of this has  _ nothing _ to do with Henry.  She picks up her phone, and responds to his text: 

**Yes, Mr. Jones, Thursday, 9AM sharp. I will reserve the conference room. Thank you, E. Swan  
  
** . . .  
  
Killian knew the text was risky, but he didn’t think it’d shut them down completely– like there's a "them" to shut down at all.

He’s going to have to play by her rules– not that he was ever under the illusion that he wouldn’t be– and he’s in this for the long haul.  He bides his time for Thursday, desperately hoping to run into her at the gym or on the T. It’s Wednesday night’s training session where Robin finally says something. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, mate. You’re no beauty queen yourself.” He shoots his friend (and trainer) a sarcastic smirk but receives only a judgemental stare back. Killian sighs, running his taped hands over his face. “I’m fine, Rob. I promise. Just stressed with the manager switch is all.”    
  
“Is there something wrong with Emma? Is she stressing you out? Regina said you two seemed to hit it off but if that’s not the case then I can–” 

Killian cuts him off, “No, no, no. There is absolutely  _ nothing _ wrong with Emma.” He winces at the meaning behind his own words, hoping it’s lost on his friend. When he meets Robin’s eye, he knows it’s not. 

“I see then. How about a few quick practice rounds in the ring?” Robin gives him a knowing look as he lifts the rope for Killian to slip under. He nods back at him in thanks, not just for lifting the rope, but for dropping the subject. He doesn’t want a fuss over something that is decidedly and absolutely nothing. 

He adjusts the peeling tape on his battered knuckles and slips into training mode. The world blurs around him when he fights; it’s just him and his opponent. He feels the rush of instinct and adrenaline course through his veins as he rolls his shoulders back ready to go one versus one with his trainer. 

He takes it easy on Robin. 

Obviously.

He wipes the sweat from his brow as he all but chugs from the water bottle Robin threw him after the quick bout. Water pours down his throat like ice, quelling the adrenaline, and calming the innate rage that boils over mid-fight. With a clear mind, his first thought is of green eyes. He punches the padded wall behind him in protest of his own mutinous thoughts, and Robin shakes his head. 

“You’ve got it bad, mate.” Robin gives Killian a tight smile and throws him a towel, “Shower up, you did good today.”

The pounding of the water on his shoulders brings further clarity. How he feels about Emma is, at this point, out of his control, but what they become is her decision. He’s known this all along, but would be lying if he said he hadn’t tried to push the hands of fate a little bit. 

It was selfish, but Killian doesn’t mind being selfish when it comes to Emma. 

He finishes up getting ready and walks out of the locker room while scrolling through ESPN’s predictions for this week’s fights when he quite literally runs into someone. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I–” He looks up. “Oh Belle, I’m sorry, lass. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” 

Belle smiles brightly, “No problem, Mr. Jones. It happens.”    
  
“Killian please, lass.” 

Belle nods shyly and smiles before walking towards the storage closet between the two locker rooms. Killian’s eyes subconsciously follow the sweet lass until they catch a flash of blonde leaving the locker room opposite his. Something in his gut tells him to ignore her, that sparking a conversation will only dig him in deeper; yelling out her name only torturing him more. 

He stares at the space where her head was only seconds before a bit longer than he should and catches Belle’s knowing glance as he finally shakes himself out of whatever trance Emma put him under. 

. . .

She knows going to the gym is risky but Emma needs to let the tension out somehow.  She’s obviously just stressed about her client meeting tomorrow. 

It has nothing to do with said client. 

And his damn blue eyes. 

She walks in and notices Belle isn’t at the desk, but a quick sweep finds her putting towels away in the storage closest between the two locker rooms.

It also finds Killian Jones. 

Emma looks down at her phone immediately hoping to avoid any in-person contact. He seems nice enough but she’d like to keep this strictly professional… she thinks. 

She flinches before walking into the locker room, sure he’s noticed her by now and will say something that she has no choice to ignore. Emma expects to be pleasantly surprised when she gets into the locker room unscathed but her mind betrays her. Questions of why he didn’t stop her or even so much as cough to get her attention flood her mind for the rest of her work out. The silence and space is unlike the Killian Jones she’s become acquainted with over the past week and starkly different than the ones she’s kept in the peripheral of her mind for the last year. 

Yes, a year; she’s not blind. 

She audibly groans catching the attention of a man working out on the bench next to her. She recognizes him from somewhere but she can’t place him. Before she can figure it out, he’s walking over and introducing himself. 

“Need a hand?” Emma can’t help but roll her eyes, of course he thinks she needs help. 

“I got it, the groan had nothing to do with the workout. Thanks anyway, bud.”

“Graham Humbert.” Oh.  _ Oh.  _

She dials the sass back a bit and throws on a friendly smile, “Emma Sw—“

“The Savior?! I thought that might’ve been you but I didn’t think you still came around. It’s been what 7 years?”

“Ten.” Emma mumbles, now fidgeting with the hair tie on her wrist. She changes the subject, “Rough fight the other weekend, huh?”

Graham seems stunned, but whether it’s at her bringing up his loss or the fact she continued the conversation, she’s not sure. “Yeah,” he laughs awkwardly, “Jones got the best of me. He’s fucking quick, I’ve heard people say that but you can’t prepare for it unless you’ve been in the ring with him.”

Emma mentally facepalms forgetting that this particular subject would divert her train of thought right back to where she  _ didn’t  _ want it to be. “Oh? Huh. You’ll get him next time.” She answers more than vaguely (and dishonestly— Graham winning wouldn’t be good for  _ her  _ now either) and Graham seems to sense the visible shift. She’s pretty sure a trash can could’ve sensed the awkward tension between them 

“We’ll see I suppose. If there is a next time.” He pauses, probably waiting for her to answer but continues when she just nods in agreement. “Well it’s an honor to meet you, Emma.” He hesitates and she can practically feel what’s coming next. “If you ever need a spotter, uh, or dinner, let me know.” He slips her a business card with his cell number on it. “I’d be happy to help with either.”

She smiles softly, unable to help the inevitable blush that rises to her cheeks when someone (rather awkwardly) asks her out. “Will do, Graham. Thank you.”

He nods at her with a genuine smile and turns back to his bench. She does the same only to catch the eye of Killian. She’s not sure why she feels like she did anything wrong– for fucks sake they aren’t dating– but if the look on his face is any indication, he heard the entire exchange. Emma  _ just  _ saw him leave so she’s not even sure why he’s here. 

Fuck it. 

Emma walks towards him as he turns and heads to the door, she jogs a bit before calling out his name– what the fuck has gotten into her? “Jones!”

He turns around at her acknowledgement. “Yes, Swan?”

She realizes she’s not sure why she approached him, an explanation for her conversation with Graham suddenly seeming awfully presumptuous. “Oh, uh, I just wanted to confirm our meeting for tomorrow.” Smooth. 

“Yes Swan, I recieved your text.” He mimics her, “9AM sharp. Did you reserve that conference room?” 

She’s tempted to be mad at him but can sense the mirth hiding behind his eyes. “I did, but, uh, maybe the coffee shop is better. I think Tina has a meeting with Hatter’s entire team and it seems irresponsible to take up the conference room...” She’s not sure what the fuck she’s doing but the words just seem to be pouring from her mouth without her consent. 

She doesn’t really mind– neither does he. 

He nods at her and she’s either crazy or there’s a sense of bridled excitement in his next words, “As you wish, Swan.” He smiles softly and turns into the locker room. 

Emma is left standing in the middle of the gym extremely confused? Excited? Hopeful? She’s not sure, but all she knows is that Killian Jones has come into her life like a hurricane and she’s pretty sure she's only in the eye of the storm. 

. . .

  
Killian is out the door and halfway to the T when he realizes he forgot his headphones on the elliptical. He’d usually leave them... but tomorrow  _ is _ his off day  _ and _ he needs them for subway rides so no one tries to talk to him. 

Bloody hell.

He heads back into the gym, telling Belle he just has to grab something he forgot. Killian walks through the locker room to the machine he was using and stops dead in his tracks when he sees her. 

Bloody. Hell. 

He forgot she’d be here, which is ridiculous because his mind rarely lets him forget her existence, but he’s more so stopped by  _ who _ she’s talking to. He’s close enough to hear her conversation with Humbert, and although he has no right to be, his blood boils with envy when he insinuates taking Emma on a date. He can’t help but notice she doesn’t say yes. 

She also doesn’t say no. 

It’s when that realization hits him that Emma spots him from across the gym. He’d like to say he masked his emotions well, but the way Emma jogs towards him tells him he failed.  He turns to walk away, not wanting to acknowledge the feelings that he’s finding hard to control in her presence, but when she calls his name he can’t help but respond. 

Why does she look so worried? “Yes, Swan?” There’s an edge to his voice that he can’t control. One minute she’s short and professional, the next she’s chasing him down at the gym. He doesn’t mean to mock her by repeating the “9 am sharp” from her text, but he feels as though he’s getting whiplash from this woman. 

He doesn’t really mind. 

Especially when she agrees to another coffee shop date– meeting– bloody hell.  Killian rides the high of Emma’s growing comfort all the way til their meeting the next morning. 

And he is abruptly dropped on his proverbial ass. 

Emma’s initial greeting is friendly and warm, as is their elevator ride, and when he offers to buy their drinks again, she flashes a bright smile but assures him she can charge it to the company. The moment they sit down at the table everything shifts. He supposes it’s his fault as he tries desperately to keep things professional. They get stuff done -Emma sees to that- but he finds himself stumbling over words where innuendos would flow easily, making for an entirely awkward conversation. Where the last meeting lasted three hours, this one lasted a mere 45 minutes before Emma assured him she had another meeting to run off to. 

He knows she doesn’t. (So he checked her digital calendar, hoping for a second chance at a lunch date -sue him.) Not that he would’ve asked her to lunch, but he’d hoped his good luck in regards to Emma Swan may have continued. He can read her like a book and he _knows_ she feels something but the last thing he wants to do is push– good thing he's a patient man.

This woman will be the death of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you thank you :) Seriously the love ya'll have for this story is keeping me going through this crazy time. I really appreciate every single kudos, comment, and reblog. 
> 
> As always, a giant thank you to my beta who quite literally is keeping me on track. 
> 
> The updates are sporadic but I promise the story is coming along and they'll continue to be somewhat consistent :)
> 
> Thank you again, from the bottom of this heart which is utterly devoted to Captain Swan. <3
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr! @capthamm


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of live UFC returning tonight, an update!
> 
> Thanks to my beta for keeping me together through all of this :) You are my rock!

That meeting was a disaster. 

Professionally speaking, her and Killian actually got a lot done, but on every other level it was the worst meeting she’s ever been to. Everything felt forced and awkward. She supposes it’s her fault for blocking every single attempt Killian made at them having any sort of human connection. 

She can’t allow that. She feels herself drawn to him in a way ten times more powerful than anything she felt with Neal.  She just wishes the meetings could be less excruciating. 

She walks into Granny’s to meet Ruby and Henry (who she picked up from school when Emma ran late at work) and practically throws herself into the booth. 

“Rough day?” Ruby is sneering at Emma who must be wearing the residual effects of that horrible meeting all over her face. 

“You could say that.” Emma scoffs. “Hey, kid, how was school?”    
  
Henry looks up from his game and smiles, “It was great! I’m almost done with the seventh book and my teacher said I could do my next book report on it.”

Emma smiles at her son and then gives him a few quarters for the jukebox. As soon as he scoots out of the booth Ruby levels with her, “Ok, spill.”

Emma rolls her eyes, “Really, Rubes, it was just an off meeting with Jones.” 

“Ooohhh,  _ Jones _ .” Ruby wiggles her eyebrows, “You’ve already got nicknames, huh.” 

Emma grunts in mock amusement, “It’s easier than saying Mr. Jones all the time.”

Ruby has to hold back her laughter, “Ok, Em, whatever you say. I think  _ Mr. Jones _ has you all worked up and we need to let off some steam.” Before Emma can decipher what she means, Ruby is tapping away on her phone, and Emma’s goes nuts with notifications for the group chat their friends share. 

**Ruby: Emma needs a girls night. Ms, you in? David, can you take Henry?**

**Mary Margaret: Ohh how fun! I’m in!**

**David: Of course. I’m in desperate need of a guys night. ;)**

**Ruby: Perfect! Tomorrow night. 8pm. That pub. The one sort of by Emma’s apartment.**

**Mary Margaret: Perfect! Oh! I’m sooooo excited!**

**Emma: Don’t I get a say in this?**

**David: No.**

**Ruby: No.**

**Mary Margaret: No.**

Emma looks up at Ruby and sighs, but she can’t fight the smile that creeps up at the corner of her mouth. She may be a bit unorthodox, but Ruby is one of the best friends Emma’s ever had. She always knows what Emma needs and makes it happen in record time.  As they chat about their days and Henry details the entirety of  _ his _ plan for the Battle of Hogwarts, the stress in Emma’s stomach dissipates. She finds herself looking forward to a night out with friends. Hopefully the drinks and company will remove all thoughts of the dark haired, blue eyed, British fighter who seems to be taking up space in her mind whether she likes it or not. 

. . .

It is not uncommon for Killian to find himself nursing a glass of Captain on a Friday night. It  _ is _ uncommon that Emma Swan walks into the very pub where he’s chosen to do so. 

He switches up where he drinks, typically avoiding crowded sports bars downtown where he may be recognized. He finds comfort in the rum– a familiar feeling– as he lets the ambient sounds of the bar blur behind his thoughts. 

Her laugh cuts through the static like a knife. He can’t help but turn around at his recognition, but he quickly pivots back before meeting her eye; unsure his presence is what she desires this evening. He diverts his attention solely to the rum as a woman leans into the bar a few feet away from him. He can see her look around out of the corner of his eye and when the brunette’s gaze lands on him, he is too late to turn his head. “Killian ‘Hook’ Jones? Is that you?”

He sighs and rubs his bruised knuckles, “Aye, lass. No pictures tonight, ple–” 

“Oh no, I didn’t mean– My name is Mary Margaret! I just– my friend, she–” Killian turns to look at the woman as someone walks up behind her. 

“Ms, did you order ye–” Emma finds him as she follows her friend’s eyeline. “Oh, Killian, uh, hi.” 

“Hello, Swan.” He gives her a tight smile, doing his best to hide his happiness just to be in the same room as her. He decides it’ll be easier to slip into his “Hook” persona– not just for him– but for Emma, as well. He smirks softly at her, darting his eyes to her friend.

Emma sighs, but introduces them all the same, “Ms, this is Killian. Killian, my sister-in-law, Mary Margaret.” 

Killian stands up from his barstool and approaches Emma’s friend, “Pleasure, m’lady.” He shakes her hand as another woman, taller than both Emma and Mary Margaret comes up behind them. 

“Oh,  _ hello _ .” She eyes him up and down (if he weren’t a bit tipsy he may have felt a bit violated). “ _ You _ must be  _ Killian Jones _ . I’ve heard  _ so _ much about you.”    
  
Killian hazards a glance at Emma, grinning as the blush creeps into her cheeks. “All good I hope.” He winks. “And you are?"

Emma’s friend steps forward, but in an uncharacteristic move, Emma stands in front of her, effectively cutting her off. “That’s Ruby.” 

“Pleasure.” He smiles down at Emma but gets the overwhelming feeling he should excuse himself from the conversation. “Aye, well, it was wonderful meeting you lasses, but I should let you get back to it.” 

He sees the tension leave Emma’s shoulders as she sighs, but Mary Margaret speaks up, “Nonsense! Any friend of Emma’s is a friend of ours! We’ve got room at the booth, why don’t you join us?” 

He glances towards Emma and can see the hesitation in her eyes, “That’s awfully kind of you, ma’am, but I’ll leave that up to Emma.” He turns to her, hoping the look in his eye tells her the choice is hers. 

She looks at him intently before nodding, “Alright, but the first round is on you.” 

Killian can’t stop the smile from breaking across his face at her acceptance. “As you wish, Swan.” He mocks a slight bow as Emma and her two friends laugh and turn away back to their booth. He collects their drinks and another for himself before joining them in the booth. 

He slides in next to Emma, the brush of their thighs burning white hot. She smiles softly as Mary Margaret begins asking questions about his career and how he became a professional fighter. 

He gives her the press approved answer, leaving out broken hearts, dead siblings, and bar brawls. 

The rest of the night flows easily, Emma’s friend Ruby a harmless flirt and her sister-in-law seemingly the most genuine person he’s ever met. Conversation is lighthearted and he even manages a smile out of Emma more than once. By the end of the night, she’s sitting next to him comfortably rather than putting as much space between them as is possible for a small bench. 

He likes this Emma; carefree, flushed, and happy. He’d give anything to see her happy for the rest of his life. 

That realization should startle him much more than it does. 

. . . 

Much to her disdain, Ruby and Mary Margaret let it slip that Emma’s apartment is close by, and Killian insists that he walk her home. She hesitates at first, shooting wary glances to her friends but a small nudge from Mary Margaret tells her it can’t hurt. Henry is spending the night at the Nolan’s, and even if he wasn’t, it’s not like he’d come upstairs anyway. 

Emma ignores the disappointment she feels at that realization. 

“Alright, let’s go, Jones.” He smiles the smile she’s learned is reserved just for her and her belly does something absolutely absurd. 

They walk the few blocks only inches apart, their knuckles brushing lightly every other step. They talk about nothing, but the silence is comforting. When they arrive at her place, she turns to him, “Thanks, Jones. You really didn’t need to walk me home.” 

“Aye, Swan, but it was the gentlemanly thing to do.” He smiles that smile again. 

Damn him. 

“Oh so  _ now _ you’re a gentleman.” She smirks at him, flirting before she realizes it. 

He steps closer into her space. “I’m always a gentleman, love. Now, I believe gratitude is in order.” Emma can’t help the small drop in her jaw when he flirts back, touching his lips with his hand. 

“That’s what the thank you was for.” She mentally tells her feet to step away, but they act of their own accord, cemented firmly toe-to-toe with his. 

“Is that all your ensured safety is worth to you?” Emma can’t help but scoff at what he’s insinuating. 

“Please, you couldn’t handle it.” His smirk grows more cheeky now, the small part of Killian that is Hook coming through in his flirtations. 

“Perhaps  _ you're _ the one who couldn’t handle it.” 

Emma doesn’t know if it’s the distinct lack of space between them, the way he clicks the final syllable of his sentence, or the challenge he’s presented, but before she can stop herself, she’s grabbing the collar of his leather jacket. In the next moment, she finds lips softer than she imagined– she’d be a liar if she said she hadn’t imagined this– brush against hers. It’s slow at first, but– as soon as he starts kissing her back– the pent up tension that’s been simmering since the moment he approached her at the gym takes over.

They fit together perfectly. 

She indulges in this for a moment more, and he breaks away for a breath. With the gasp of air, her common sense douses her like a bucket of cold water. 

She refuses to make eye contact with him as he whispers against her lips, “That was…” 

Emma cuts him off before he can express aloud all the feelings she’s actively running from. 

Ah, there’s her wall. A little late this time, but adding bricks all the same.

“...a one time thing.” She backs away, resisting the urge to touch where his lips just left hers.

She walks towards her apartment building, reeling from a kiss she thought would end her stupid infatuation with this man. As she closes the door she can’t help but hear his response carried by the wind, and despite her best efforts, she can’t feign the small smile which twitches on the side of her mouth.

She closes the door behind her, taking a deep breath and releasing the tension in her shoulders. She hesitates, but ultimately pulls out her phone, scrolling to the name she entered but never thought she’d use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY a kiss! (Don't hate me but you KNOW them)
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kindness surrounding this story. I hope everyone is staying happy and healthy <3  
> Come flail on Tumblr! @capthamm
> 
> Much love!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank Mr. Colin O'Donoghue's work out selfies for this update!

“Humbert, huh? Didn’t peg him as your  _ type _ , Swan.” When Emma called to move today’s check-in meeting with Regina to tomorrow afternoon, he pried as to why. He was foolish to assume it had something to do with him.

Why would it? It’s not like she kissed the living daylights out of him on Friday. 

One day he’ll stop chasing this woman. 

“Yeah, well he asked if I wanted dinner and I figured why not.” She’s deflecting, and he can sense she didn’t plan on telling him this. “That’s none of your business anyway. Can you move the meeting or not?”

“As you wish, Swan.” He hangs up after agreeing to her new meeting. Not wanting to hear anymore about her date. 

He had hoped the kiss meant something, that  _ he _ meant something. 

Seems like foolish is the word of the day. 

He calls up Will and Robin and they agree to meet him at the pub for a drink. He doesn’t care if it’s a Monday, the radio silence after their kiss followed by this phone call warrants at least one glass of rum. Killian spent the entirety of the weekend trying to run into her again. He worked out more than he has in months, feigning the need to train but really just hoping to catch a glimpse of her at the gym. She never showed. He sits at the bar waiting for his friends and replays Friday night in his head for what must be the hundredth time. 

He knew nothing good would come from challenging her, or kissing her, but he couldn’t help himself. It’s like he loses all sense of balance around her, his entire world tilting on its already unstable axis. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to numb the migraine that’s been pounding in his head since she kissed him. 

He thought his life may actually be looking up for a change.  _ Foolish. _

Robin and Will walk through the door as he polishes off his second glass. The looks on their faces mirror one another and he knows they’re going to make him talk. “Not tonight, mates. Just drink.” 

He waves for the bartender to bring over their drinks as Robin speaks up, “We are not playing that game, Killian. You don’t call us on a Monday for ‘just drinks’ if there’s nothing to talk about.”

Sometimes Killian forgets Robin isn’t really his father. 

“Aye, out wit’ it, mate. Who’s the lass?” Will wiggles his eyebrows clearly amused by whatever Robin told him. “I haven’t seen ya like this since–” Robin elbows him in the side. “Oi, mate what was that for?”

Robin shoots Will an icy glare before turning back to Killian, “Come on, what happened?”

Killian sighs, knowing there's no way around this, “Emma and I shared a kiss.” 

Robin chokes on his whiskey (again) and Will whoops and slaps his back. “Aye, mate! Thatta boy! What ya looking so down in th’ dumps fer then?” 

Robin rolls his eyes before turning to Killian warily, “What happened after?”

Killian shakes Will’s hand off his shoulder, and finishes his glass of rum. He responds through the burn of the liquid coating his throat, “She moved our meeting with Regina because she has a date,” he holds a finger up to Will who looks ready to order a round of celebratory shots, “with Humbert.” 

Robin hisses and Will lets out a low whistle, “Aye, that’s rough, mate. Next round on Rob.” Robin goes to argue but it falls short to Will shouting their order. In an unspoken agreement, they spend the rest of the night talking about anything but Emma Swan. 

This is why he called them, enough humor and good sense to help him ignore everything that’s weighed him down for the past three days.  It works until he finds himself alone in his room wide awake at 2am. Finding the events of Friday night flooding his thoughts once again. 

Where’d he go wrong? 

He couldn’t have “gone wrong”;  _ she  _ kissed  _ him _ . 

He grabs his phone, accepting his fate of yet another sleepless night. He mindlessly scrolls through Twitter begging for anything to take his mind off the woman who won’t leave his thoughts. Before he knows it, the glow of the clock threatens 3am and he feels his body gives in where his mind would not. The last thing he hears is the slight ding of what is probably a Facebook notification before drifting off to sleep. 

. . .

This date is probably the worst idea Emma’s ever had— besides maybe kissing Killian Jones— jury’s still out on that one. 

It’s not that the date is bad, it’s actually  _ damn good _ . The food is fantastic, Graham is a complete gentleman, and the conversation is easy. It feels like she’s known him her whole life. 

So why does it all feel so  _ wrong? _

She has no idea until they’re standing on the sidewalk and Graham is chatting about some ancient bottle of whiskey he has back at his place and she tries to smile at him in that specific way she wants to reserve for Killian. 

_ Killian _ . 

She suddenly understands why this entire night has felt off. That kiss with Killian meant more to her than she ever wanted it to– she had really hoped it would get him  _ out _ of her system, not engrain him deeper _ into _ it. She knows it’ll more than likely take some time, and they should really know more about each other than their fight records, but she finds herself oddly willing to put in some work. 

_ Dammit, Killian Jones.  _

She smiles politely before thanking Graham for the food and feigning exhaustion despite the fact that she’ll be lucky to catch even a wink of sleep tonight. She’s positive he expected their night to continue, but she’s not in the business of leading men on. Graham isn’t stupid and can probably tell this is their last date, but he’s nice all the same and ends the night with a chaste kiss to her cheek and helping her into the cab. 

She gets home and thanks Ruby for watching Henry, before checking to make sure he’s actually sleeping. Ruby tries to ask about the date but gives her a knowing look when Emma practically shoves her out the door. “That’s ‘cause it was with the wrong hottie.” 

Emma rolls her eyes when she hears her friend through the door and decides pretending like she never heard that is probably for the best. She jumps in the shower, her mind racing with all the realizations she had after one night with a man who was  _ not  _ Killian Jones. She isn’t sure if it's the buzz of the wine from dinner or the electricity that is still lingering in every single nerve from their kiss on Friday night, but as she lays in bed she finds herself grabbing her phone before she even realizes what for. She scrolls to his name and types out a ridiculous amount of text messages before landing on something decidedly simple: 

**Emma: Tomorrow? Same time. Same place. I’ll buy.**

She fully expects to regret it in the morning, so she’s surprised at the anticipation which she feels stirring in her gut. Emma’s not usually one to kick things off– she doesn’t usually kiss men like  _ that _ either– but with Killian Jones she finds that fear dissipating leaving behind only excitement and maybe the smallest trace of hope. 

Emma wakes to find an abundance of texts– mostly from Graham who apparently  _ didn’t  _ get the hint– but is disappointed to see her text to Killian left unanswered. She tells herself he’s probably not up at the ass crack of dawn like she is– kids will do that to you and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t have kids. She makes a mental note to ask– subtly of course– he doesn’t even know about Henry. 

_ Shit _ . 

She somehow makes Henry breakfast and wonders the best way to tell her client/guy-you-kissed that she has a son. She’s truly shocked when she gets said son to the bus on time, and walks into the office around 8:15 giving her enough time to prepare before her meeting with Killian. As she’s settling in at her desk, she sees Regina call her over. Emma sighs, nerves fluttering in her gut for more reason than one, and walks into Regina’s office. 

“It comes to my attention you’ve never attended a Fight Night?” Regina asks while stirring creamer into her coffee. She’s not sure how Regina knows that; she mentioned it to Sidney in onboarding, but— well, that’s how she knows. There’s no judgment in Regina’s voice, but Emma can’t help suddenly feeling inadequate for the position she’s been given.

Emma sighs before rambling a bit, a habit she’s consciously trying to kick, “Well... obviously I’ve  _ fought _ in them... but that was when UFC was still on Fox... and since they’ve moved to ESPN I haven’t–”

Regina cuts her off, “Alright then, we will set up a time for you and Jones to attend one. I will book the hotel rooms and secure tickets. It will be good PR for him and a good way for you to get a lay of the land before his first official fight.” Regina is scrolling through her calendar now, Emma assumes looking for the next time there’s a fight relatively close. “Ah, yes, Miss Swan, they are in Maine this weekend. Can you make yourself available Friday and Saturday night?” 

“Of course, Mrs. Mills. Thank you, Mrs. Mills.” Emma stands up to leave her office as Regina speaks again. 

“Oh and Miss Swan, I trust you can tell Mr. Jones of his new obligations for this Friday and Saturday.”

Emma’s excitement at the prospect of attending a Fight Night without actually having to work seems to have overshadowed the realization that Killian would be attending as well. She sighs, “Of course Mrs. Mills, I have a meeting with him now. Thank you again.”

Emma leaves Regina’s office and immediately pulls out her phone to see if Killian got her message. There’s still no reply but she supposes she deserves that– she  _ did _ ghost him after kissing the holy hell out of him. She shoots off a message to Mary Margaret asking if they’re available to take Henry this weekend, and grabs her laptop. Taking a leap of faith, Emma grabs walks to the coffee shop with only a sliver of hope that he’ll be waiting for her at all. 

She can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when she sees Killian sitting at their usual table– with two drinks. He’s scrolling through his phone and doesn’t notice her walk in. She takes a deep breath— and a selfish moment to really drink in every piece of him— before approaching him. As she enters his space, he looks up politely, meeting her eyes. She can’t help but notice they are almost navy, a stark difference from the normal sea blue she usually finds there. She realizes that she’s staring when he clears his throat and chuckles, “Good morning, Swan.”

. . . 

He didn’t expect the notification he heard just before shutting his eyes for the night to be from her– definitely not after the way he acted during their last phone call– but Killian would be a bloody liar if he said his heart didn’t do something absolutely stupid when he saw her name on his phone. He didn’t answer– a slight jab, sure– but he’s allowed to be petty. 

It killed him. 

Killian had hoped she’d still come –had thought it daft but had hoped all the same– so when he caught the flash of blonde out of the corner of his eye, it took every ounce of his willpower to not look up. As she approached the table he scrolled through his email inbox (as though he didn’t clean it out every morning), not reading a single word. 

She steps awfully close to him and he can no longer play ignorant to her presence. He looks up and meets her emerald eyes. They’re almost hesitant in their gaze, but she’s staring. He smirks at that thought and decides to put her out of her misery with a slight grunt and a greeting. He uses her nickname despite himself, more out of habit than endearment today. 

The smile she responds with is  _ radiant _ .

He’s never going to be able to stay away from this woman, how could he when her dimples–  _ whoa, Jones _ . 

She sits down next to him. “I said  _ I  _ would buy.” She seems happy and he can’t help the flare of envy which runs up his spine. 

He turns back to his phone, hoping to filter her ability to read him by averting eye contact and the words slip out before he can stop them, “How’s Humbert?”

He regrets it immediately, but she doesn’t even flinch. “Well, based on the 23 text messages I received today, I’d imagine much more interested than I am.” 

Killian’s head snaps up and he has to physically put his hand under his chin in order to stop his jaw from dropping. She smirks - almost knowingly- as he answers, “That bad, huh?” 

She shrugs, but it’s everything but nonchalant, “Not bad, just not interested.” She pauses, presumably for him to say something, but he’s already made up his mind. This is her race, he’ll follow her to the end of the earth or time or wherever the fuck she wants to go, but she’s driving. He just nods with a smile and she seems to take that as a hint to keep talking. “Anyway, I have some news.” His breath hitches entirely involuntarily—  _ don’t be ridiclous, Jones, Humbert wouldn’t have proposed after one date _ — she rolls her eyes. “Not  _ bad _ news. At least I don’t think it–” 

“Come on, Swan, out with it.” 

She relaxes as he cuts off her nervous babble, “Mills is sending us to the Fight Night this weekend... in Maine. I’ve never gone as anything but a fighter -and not since the network switch- so she said it’d be a good idea for me to go and learn the ropes. She wants you to come for a PR stunt promoting your match, which is in four weeks by the way...” 

Her voice trails off in his head as he wraps his mind around spending a weekend with her. He’s not sure it’s a good idea– he’s hovering awfully close to the line of professionalism Emma seems determined not to cross– but he doesn’t care. This is his chance to really get to know her and he’d be a damn idiot not to take it. 

“...Killian are you even listening to me?” 

She’s giving him one of her  _ token _ annoyed looks that he knows means she’s not really annoyed and he can’t help the smirk that forms as he answers, “Aye, love. This weekend is Maine with you, and four weeks until my next fight. Do we know who I’m fighting yet?” He takes a sip of coffee to hide his obvious nerves at the last question. 

She rolls her eyes, but he can tell it’s all in jest, “I literally just said that, Jones. They emailed me today. It’s some newcomer, Phillip “Sleeper” Rose. They’ll officially announce it after the fights this weekend. He was on the Contender Series last season and has only fought twice– seems reckless to put him up against you and his lack of fights will probably make training tough...”

Killian nods his head in agreement. It  _ is  _ a stupid stunt and will definitely throw off his usual training which includes researching his opponent’s past fights– usually theres more than two. “Aye, it will.”

Bloody hell. 

He sighs, scrubbing his left hand across his face. He’s not usually nervous for fights but somehow he feels like he owes Emma a win, like her career depends on him– it sort of does. She must notice his worry and she reaches across the table. Killian flinches at the unexpected contact but she holds a bit tighter. He should love this, but honestly confusion washes over him first. He can’t read what she wants and it’s driving him insane. 

He needs a break. 

Killian pulls his hand from hers and he internally winces at the wave of disappointment that crosses her face, but he can't do this. He doesn’t want to sway her opinion of him and he’s worried he won’t be able to take it slow. “Anyway, love,” he winces again– habit betraying him once more, “is there anything else for today?” 

She looks confused and he feels his own heart breaking, but it's for the best. He wants this decision to be her own. “Uh, no I don’t think so. Just remember we have the check in meeting with Regina this afternoon.” 

“Of course, Swan. I’ll see you there, aye?” He gives her a soft smile and basks in the one she gives back for as long as possible before standing up and heading towards the door. 

. . .

Emma isn’t really sure what just happened. The Killian she’s been working with for almost two weeks now was not the one sitting across from her right now. She could read the conflict all over his face. 

She did this.

Fuck.

“Killian. Killian! Wait!”  _ What is she doing?  _

He turns around at her voice, seemingly stunned by the fact she followed him– she doesn’t blame him. “Did I forget something, Swan?” He smiles warily and scratches nervously behind his ear– she’s not saying its adorable, but it’s adorable. 

“Uh,” wow, she does  _ not _ do this, “Can we talk… not about UFC?”

His smile reaches his eyes. “Of course, love.” He leads them back to their table– _ they have a table _ –  _ calm down, Emma _ . 

“So, this is weird now, right?”

Killian chuckles at her bluntness and she can’t help but relax a little bit. “A bit, love. I’m just not entirely sure where we stand.” 

She sighs, “Me either. I sorta fucked this all up. I want to be a team– friends even? Can we... start over?” She gives him a hesitant smile. 

“I’d like that.” She doesn’t think she’s ever heard a more genuine string of words… or seen more genuine eyes… and that smile.  _ God damn, Emma _ . “Killian Jones.” He reaches out his hand and looks at her expectantly. 

She chuckles to herself and grabs his hand, desperately pretending she doesn’t remember the way it felt tangled in her hair, “Emma Swan.”

He smiles  _ that _ smile, “Pleasure, love.” She can’t help but smile back. “I’ll see you later, hm?” 

She nods, “Friends?” He winks and suddenly life feels back on track. 

“Friends.” He’s still smiling and she’s pretty sure it could power the entire city of Boston. “Later, Swan.” 

She smiles back and it’s real and she realizes she’s happy. “Friends.”

_ Really happy. _ They’re going to Maine this weekend free from awkwardness and the kiss she’s pretending she regrets and they’re  _ friends _ — they can definitely do friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all the love to my beta! Thanks for your endless love for this world we're creating!!!
> 
> Come flail with me!! @capthamm on Tumblr <3


	7. Chapter 7

The meeting with Regina is largely pointless, so when she gets an urgent phone call and politely asks them to leave the office Killian is more than happy to oblige. He can tell Emma still feels a bit awkward around him, but he knows that’s probably just residual from their chat earlier. He’s doing his best to be a friend now that she’s made it _abundantly_ clear that’s all she wants– he’s pretty positive she said the word “friend” _at least_ three times in their short conversation. He can do “friends”– it’s not at all he wants with Emma, but he’ll take what he can get. 

They’re walking towards Emma’s cubicle and he hesitates only slightly before speaking up, “Would you like to, uh, grab an early dinner?” He has to mentally tell himself _not_ to scratch behind his ear. Friends get dinner, right? Wrong. (If the look on her face is anything to go by.) “Or, uh, nevermind, Swan. I didn’t mean to–” 

“No, no, no. If it were any other night, I totally would but I–” 

He can’t help his sigh. He’s a bloody idiot to think she wouldn’t be busy. Probably someone else she met at their gym, or maybe the coffee shop. Lucky bloke. “Aye, lass, it’s alright. Another time then.” He gives her a forced smile and turns away, hopefully putting both of them out of their misery. 

“I have a son.” She practically whispers it. 

He did _not_ expect that. 

Killian turns on his heels, walking into her cubicle to give her some privacy for a topic she seems to have kept entirely under wraps. “I have a son and, uh, no one knows– well I mean _Regina_ knows– but I try and keep him pretty low profile so his life is as normal as possible and so he doesn’t think I’m some superstar… not that I’m a superstar... and he usually has soccer after school, but the coach is out of town so I have to pick him up earlier than usual. So, it’s not that I wouldn’t _go_ to dinner because I _would_ … I just–” She’s looking at him but her hands are doing a number on the loose string attached to the end of her blazer. 

She’s babbling again and he smiles before cutting her off. “I understand, Swan; I’m sorry. I didn’t know— obviously. We’ll plan for lunch another time, my treat.” He does his best to seem unphased by this important information, knowing his curiosity would be less than helpful right now. 

She looks utterly stunned. Her face shifts slightly and he catches a small smile before relief washes over her. “I’d really appreciate that, I mean, I’d like that. Thanks? I’m sorry?” 

She’s chuckling awkwardly and he’s pretty sure she’s never looked so vulnerable and trusting– so beautiful. “It’s quite alright, Swan. As I said, I understand, and I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to tell me.”

She dips her head slightly, quickly breaking their eye contact, before speaking softly, “I wanted to.”

His chest tightens, knowing her confession means more than she’s letting on. Emma wanted to share a piece of her world with him. A _large_ piece of her world– with _him._

_Wow._

He has to take a second to process that before answering, “I appreciate your trust, Swan. Tell the lad I say hello.” She meets his eyes and smiles softly. He doesn’t want to push so he decides now is probably the best time to make his exit. “Enjoy your night, love. I’ll see you Thursday, aye?” 

She nods, the smile never leaving her face, and Killian swears he could walk on water or maybe even fly. 

As he enters the elevator, selfishly stealing one more glance of her before the doors close, realization drenches him like a cold rain. 

_He could love her_ – may already be well on his way _to_ loving her.

So how in bloody hell is he _ever_ supposed to be _friends_ with her?

. . .

As Killian walks away, she expects regret to hit her like a ton of bricks. When it comes to her profession, she has kept Henry’s existence on a need-to-know basis for almost ten years.

Suddenly, Killian feels like he’s part of need-to-know. 

That’s terrifying. 

She shakes it off, not ready to deal with the emotional weight of what just happened. She checks the clock and quickly responds to a few emails before heading out to get Henry from school. Emma rarely gets to pick him up and she’s excited for a bit of mom/kid time before her weekend away. The look on Henry’s face when he sees her standing in front of the school is worth everything she’s ever sacrificed. He runs down the sidewalk, a piece of posterboard flapping in the wind behind him, before barreling into her legs. “Mom!!! You’re here?!”

She can’t help but laugh with his contagious enthusiasm. She hugs him a bit closer, “Yeah, kid. Thought I’d play hooky and we could go get some ice cream.” 

His head perks up at the idea of ice cream, “At Granny’s?!” Emma nods and grabs his hand to start the few block walk to their favorite restaurant. “Will Ruby be there? Ruby is _always_ there and she makes the best sundaes– no offence, mom.”

Emma chuckles as their arms swing back and forth, “None taken, I can’t be the best at _everything_ .” Henry rolls his eyes in a way that is just so _her_ that she almost stops in her tracks. She knows he’s her son– obviously, she was in labor for almost 13 hours and has the c-section scars to prove it– but something about telling Killian today makes her hyper-aware of just how much of Henry is _her._ When it comes to looks, he’s all his father: brown hair, brown eyes, and that nose, but the more his personality blossoms, Emma realizes he’s got a lot of her in him too. She smiles at that thought, and how Killian would probably laugh at the way Henry rolls his eyes, while Henry explains whatever art project is supposed to go on the poster board. 

Emma asks a few more questions about Henry’s art project and– riding the high from smoothing things over with Killian and simply loving her son– she doesn’t really think about the implication of the next sentence before it leaves her mouth, “Oh, Killian says hi by the way!”

Henry’s jaw drops more than she thought possible. “Hook knows I exist?” 

Shit. Emma has always been upfront with Henry as far as her career goes. As soon as he was old enough to start asking questions, Emma answered them as honestly as she could for a 6 year old. Henry knows she didn’t go public with her pregnancy because his father wasn’t around and she wanted him to have a normal life, as he got older he realized that means most people in the UFC world don’t know he exists. Emma continually reassures Henry that it’s not because she doesn’t love him or is ashamed of him and he continually rolls his eyes and tells her he understands. 

He’s an extremely smart almost-ten year old. 

“Yeah, buddy. He asked if I wanted to grab a bite to eat and I had to tell him I was busy.” 

Henry eyes her skeptically, “Well, you can tell him I say hi back.” His stomach rumbles and he grimaces in embarrassment, “Can I get some grilled cheese too?” She smiles to herself at her son’s ability to turn any conversation towards food and is silently relieved at the change of subject.

“Sure, kid.” She pushes on the door of the diner and with the ring of the bell feels the stress of the day leave her body. Since the first day Ruby and Ms brought her here, Granny has made it feel like home– not to mention all the discounted meals when she was pregnant with Henry. It also helps that Granny makes the _best_ onion rings in Boston. She feels Henry leave her side and it snaps her out of the nostalgia. She looks up to find Ruby at the counter talking to a customer and Henry subsequently interrupting their conversation. 

Ah, there’s the nine year old in him– she was starting to get worried she missed a birthday.

She catches up to him, apologizing to the man she recognizes as Archie (another regular at Granny’s) and practically _dragging_ him to the booth while he yells something about extra sprinkles to Ruby. 

This is her life and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They order their dinner, dessert first at Henry’s insistence, and Ruby eventually joins them as they eat. They chat about nothing in particular until Emma mentions going to Maine practically in passing. Ruby knows this is anything but “no big deal” but Emma brushes off her questions, eyeing Henry next to her. Ruby nods and Emma thinks she’s out of the woods until she mouths, “We’ll talk later,” and gets up from the booth. She ignores her friend and turns to Henry, asking about his day at school until he’s finished his meal. 

They gather their things and head to catch the train home. Emma feels better than she has in a long time; shocked at how much the tension between her and Killian was affecting her mood. She’s not sure when he became such an influence on her, and to be honest, it’s another terrifying fact about Killian Jones. Doing her best to ignore it, she focuses on the renewed energy she’s feeling and can’t help but let excitement for the weekend lull her to sleep. 

She wakes the next morning to find that energy just as present– Henry gets to the bus stop _early_ – and channels it into booking appearances for Killian over the next four weeks and laying out his entire social media plan for the lead up to his fight night. This level of adrenaline is something she hasn’t felt since she stepped into the ring, and while it's a slightly different feeling, the intensity is just the same. Before she knows it, it’s Thursday night, and (while effectively dodging all questions from Ruby) she’s packing for her weekend away. 

. . .

Killian was disappointed when Emma cancelled their meeting that afternoon, claiming she has been swamped and they can discuss it on the car ride to weigh-ins. He’s picking her up at 9am tomorrow and he’s been distracted all week. 

This has been the longest week of his life. 

He schedules an impromptu training session with Robin to fill the void in his schedule, desperately trying to keep his mind off the next day. 

He promptly gets the shit beat out of him; Robin easily noticing his mind is elsewhere and punishing him accordingly. 

Bloody hell.

Killian heads home and immediately grabs a bag of peas from the freezer to ice his face. He’s not sure the last time he’s been beat this bad, but if he doesn’t regain focus soon he’s sure these peas will be used again. He sighs as he collapses onto the couch, some muscle in his lower back screaming at the movement. He’s only got one bag of peas so he figures he’ll just alternate between his face and back— you’d think an ultimate fighter could invest in some ice packs. He grabs his phone to add it to the shopping list he always forgets to check and is surprised to see a text from Emma on the screen. 

**Swan: I’ve never been to one of these before, do I need to pack anything special?**

He guesses she’s nervous and he chuckles to himself before typing an answer. 

**Killian Jones: Nothing special, Swan. Just your usual self :)**

He hits send before he can double guess himself.

**Swan: Ok, thank you.**

He ignores the wave of disappointment at her ending their conversation– maybe she really just needed to know what to pack. Killian’s thoughts are interrupted by another text:

**Swan: 9am, right?**

So she _is_ nervous. He can’t say he blames her, the last time she was at weigh-ins was probably almost ten years ago and he’s not sure if she’s ever attended a Fight Night without fighting in it. He’s also pretty sure this will be her first public appearance since she left the league. 

Nerves? Justified. 

**Killian Jones: Aye, love. I’ll pick you up at your apartment. Let me know if you need help carrying your suitcase.**

**Swan: Ha. Ha. You know I’m more than capable of that, Jones.**

**Killian Jones: Just trying to be a gentleman, Swan.**

He calls back to their first kiss inadvertently and isn’t surprised when she doesn’t answer. Mentally kicking himself, he grabs the remote to flip through the channels, attempting to distract himself from the lack of activity on his phone. 

He practically throws it at the wall when it lights up. 

**Swan: Yeah, yeah, Always a gentleman. I know.**

She’s totally rolling her eyes right now. He’s about to answer when another text comes through. 

**Swan: Sorry, was checking on Henry and then got sidetracked by the dishes in the sink.**

**Killian Jones: Happens to the best of us, Swan.**

He can’t help the swell of his heart as she gives him more glimpses into her world. 

**Swan: Do you have a nine year old who refuses to go to bed at a normal time that you’re not telling me about?**

He can’t help but laugh out loud. Nine must be a fun age. 

Oh. _Oh._

So _that’s_ why The Savior left the UFC. He decides to file that in his Emma file and ignore it, she’ll tell him when— if— she wants to. 

**Killian Jones: Not that I know of, love. I was referring to the dishes.**

He’s stunned she’s even still responding at this point. So when she answers with a laughing emoji, he decides not to press his luck. He lands on SportsCenter and half listens as they discuss the college football matchups for the weekend. Apparently Alabama is playing Wisconsin for the first time since 2015 and it’s a big deal. 

He couldn’t care less. 

He continues to half watch, pretending he’s not waiting for his phone to light up– it doesn’t make him less shocked when it does. 

**Swan: Are you watching SportsCenter?**

**Killian Jones: Aye, lass. Although I couldn’t care less about American football, especially the uni league.**

**Swan: God, you’re so British.**

He knew that’d get some sort of reaction out of her– that was the point.

**Killian Jones: Since June 12, 1988.**

**Swan: You’re 32?!**

Killian actually laughs out loud. If he had roommates, they’d think he was a maniac.

**Killian Jones: As my manager, I feel like you should know this.**

**Swan: I just knew you were old, but I didn’t think you were that old.**

**Killian Jones: Oi, you wound a man, Swan.**

**Swan: Nah, that’s your opponents’ job. I’m just trying to keep that ego in check. ;)**

He can’t help but smile at how easy their conversation is and he’s wary of continuing it, the fear of ruining something good taking over. He decides to answer simply, knowing a response won’t be required. 

**Killian Jones: Anytime, love.**

**Swan: You can count on it. :D**

He smiles at the fact she responded anyway, and their natural banter flowing easy even over text. Killian doesn’t have time to respond before another text flashes across his screen. 

**Swan: Thanks for chatting but I need to crash or I’ll be a nightmare tomorrow! See you at 9am!**

He smiles; their conversation apparently worth enough to her to end it properly. There’s a million things he’d like to say, but he holds back in fear of wading too deep into these new waters. 

**Killian Jones: Aye, I’ll be there. Goodnight, Swan.**

**Swan: Night, Jones.**

With her final text his smile widens, ignoring the gut feeling that longs to end each night this way– preferably in person. He drifts off to sleep hoping this conversation is a hint at the weekend ahead of them and wakes up to nerves replaced with unbridled excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long time between updates! Hopefully will be back on track soon :)
> 
> Thank you to my amazingly brilliant beta, and to all of you for your support!
> 
> Kudos, comments, flailing are always appreciated!!
> 
> Much love!


	8. Chapter 8

Nervous is an understatement– no, it’s  _ the  _ understatement...  _ of the century _ . The ride up was easy, she purposely cancelled their check in meeting yesterday to be sure they at least had work to talk about for the two hour car ride. Her plan worked, and their conversation rarely shifted into anything remotely personal. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be friends with him, but this entire “weekend away” will be easier if they keep things strictly business. She was reluctant to text him last night– typing and retyping her messages a dozen times. All it took was five minutes of back and forth and all her nerves settled and she found them talking in an easy rhythm. 

She doesn’t want to analyze what that means. 

Emma isn’t sure what to expect for the rest of this weekend, but as Killian pulls the car up to the lobby of the hotel Regina booked for them, she feels like she wants to vomit. She hasn’t stepped within 5 miles of a UFC event since she found out she was pregnant with Henry and while she knows most of the focus will be on the fighters, she can’t help the pang of anxiety at the thought someone might recognize her. 

Killian parks and tells her that he’ll unload the car if she doesn’t mind checking them in. She nods and he smiles brightly, seemingly oblivious to her nerves. The hotel is nothing fancy, your standard Holiday Inn, but it  _ does _ have a lobby bar which she’ll definitely need after tonight. 

People are definitely going to recognize her.  _ Breathe. _

She walks up to the front desk and a sleepy-looking man clicking behind the computer. She has to clear her throat to snap him out of his tired trance. “Oh, good morning, ma’am. How can I help you?” He punctuates his sentence with a yawn and Emma chuckles to herself. 

“I’d like to check-in me and my, uh, co-worker, please. The rooms should be under Mills?”

The man nods and types a few things into the computer. “Ah yes, a double room for Mills Management already paid in full. I presume you are Miss Swan?”

“Yup, that’s me. There should be a second room for a Mr. Jones… under the same reservation?” The man furrows his eyebrows and Emma’s stomach drops– this  _ cannot  _ be happening. 

“I’m sorry Miss Swan, I only see one reservation under that name.” 

Emma sighs and searches for her company card, “That’s no problem, could we just book a second room please?” As she finishes her sentence, she feels Killian at her side.

“Everything alright, Swan?” She nods. She catches herself subconsciously fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket while the tired gentleman continues to click away on his computer and knows she doesn’t have the resolve to explain what’s going on right now to Killian. 

When the worker finally speaks, Emma’s fear materializes in front of her, “I’m sorry, Miss. It seems we are full tonight, there’s some sporting event here this weekend that’s had us booked up for a while. That’s probably why your company could only get one room…” 

Emma feels Killian stiffen at her side once he realizes what’s going on. She’s surprised when he speaks, “Surely you must have something available, mate. A last minute cancellation?” 

The man shakes his head, “I’m sorry, sir. Yours is the last room.” 

Emma walks away from the counter, the world suddenly seeming rather small. She hears Killian ask the front desk worker for a moment before she sees him sit next to her.  _ When did she sit down? _

Killian grabs the tip of her chin, forcing her to look at him. She swears there’s a spark at his touch, not to mention how comforting his presence is overall—  _ get it together, Emma.  _ He’s speaking but she hasn’t been paying attention, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I simply said we can find another hotel, love. I’m sorry this was all messed up, Swan. I can call Regina and get this figured out.” 

The genuine care in his eyes, and probably the overuse of those damn pet names, is the only possible explanation for what she says next. “It’s fine.” 

Killian practically falls off the uncomfortable lobby couch they’re sharing. “I’m sorry, love?” 

“It’s fine. I mean, as long as it’s fine with  _ you _ , I’m fine. We’re both adults, right? And we drove all the way here and no  _ other  _ hotel is going to have space, plus weigh-ins are in an hour so we don’t really have time… I’m just saying it’s all we’ve got and we’ll be fine. I can take the couch or we can switch off or we can just be fucking adults and– if you want to cut me off that’d be great?” She’s used to him stopping her babbling but he’s just staring at her like her face is melting. 

He shakes his head and it seems to bring him back to reality, “Sorry, love. Aye, you’re right. It’ll be fine.” She can’t help but let out a rather obnoxious laugh when his hand immediately finds the back of his ear. The tips of his ears turn bright red as his hand snaps back to his lap. “Uh, right then. I’ll go talk to the front desk then, aye?” 

All she can do is nod. Emma’s not sure what came over her, but for a split second sharing a room with Killian didn’t seem like that bad of an idea– she’d be lying if she said her opinion changed in the following seconds. She sort of zones out, probably in some sort of rash decision shock, until Killian is back by her side, this time with a pair of keys and their suitcases. 

The rush of disappointment that runs through her when she thinks he actually managed to get two seperate rooms is honestly ridiculous. “Oh, uh, did they end up having an extra room?” 

Killian looks confused until he follows her eyes to the two keys in his hand, “No, lass, just thought it best we both have a key.” 

She sighs with what she refuses to recognize as relief and seriously hopes Killian can’t read the actual minefield happening in her head right now. “Oh, ha, duh! Should we drop our stuff off and head out then?”

He eyes her warily– most likely shocked she agreed to this at all, let alone is handling it so well, “Aye, lass. Room #404. Let’s go.” He smiles at her and her stomach does another flop. She tells herself what she told Killian, they’re  _ adults _ they can handle bunking together for two nights, but she ignores the overwhelming feeling of anticipation in her chest that won’t seem to settle down. 

. . .

As they walk back to the car after dropping luggage in their room–  _ their room _ – Killian is still replaying the last ten minutes in his head. He subtly pinches himself to make sure this isn’t some crazy dream he’s about to wake up from. 

He knows it’s not— the slight brush of her knuckles against his as the walk is the realest thing he’s felt in ages. 

Fuck.

The car ride to the weigh-ins is more awkward than Killian thought it’d be, about halfway through, he can’t help but break the silence, “Look, Swan, I know this isn’t ideal. I can call Regina and we can surely figure–” 

“I’m terrified to step foot in the arena again.”

He’s a bit shocked at her confession; he’s grateful, but unsure why Emma keeps letting him in. She’s playing with her sleeve again and he can’t help but reach over and stop her— her fingers automatically wrap around his and he feels every ounce of oxygen leave his body. Somehow he manages to speak, “Swan, it’s going to be ok.”

“How can you be so sure? What if people start asking questions? What if I accidentally slip up about Henry? What if this is a total disaster?” She’s looking at him like he holds all the answers and while he’s positive he doesn’t, for her he’d try to figure out anything. 

“None of those things are going to happen, love. You’re going to be a brilliant manager and -should you want to be- a happy sight for UFC die-hards, and when this is all over, you’ll go back to being a secret super mom. I have no doubt.” Killian’s not sure he’s capable of doubting Emma. 

She’s smiling now— it’s soft and humble but it’s a smile all the same. She looks down, studying the end of her sleeve intently before speaking quietly, “You really think so?” Killian can feel her looking at him again— his senses continually on high alert when she’s around.

He checks the road before briefly finding her eyes— he needs her to know he’s sincere, “I have yet to see you fail.” She looks stunned at first— perhaps still not used to being believed in and he can’t help but wonder what made her this way— but then she nods resolutely and he feels as though he’s succeeded at least minuscully. It isn’t until she squeezes his hand, in a silent sign of appreciation, that he realizes it’s still entwined in hers. He squeezes back before giving her a soft smile that he hopes conveys everything he knows she's still too skittish to hear aloud— and he’s too afraid to admit. She smiles back and turns to look out the window. 

He’s fascinated at the way they can communicate without saying a word. 

The rest of the relatively quick drive is quiet, but comfortable unlike before. He practically felt the tension leave the car and when he turns into the parking lot, for Emma’s sake, he silently hopes it doesn’t return. It’s not that he is annoyed or unwilling to help her, but rather that it pains him to see Emma so unsure of herself— especially when he’s never been so sure of someone in his life. 

This enigma of a woman turned his world upside down in a matter of two weeks, and while that should scare the hell out of him, he finds himself excited by all the what ifs. 

Killian pays the parking attendant and finds a relatively close spot. He turns the car off but decides to let Emma lead— noticing she’s giving herself one hell of a mental pep talk in that passenger seat. In a feeble attempt not to rush her, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the UFC tag on Twitter. It’s mostly predictions for match ups and betting on whether or not Nottingham will actually make weight but it keeps him busy until she finally speaks up. 

“Ok, let’s go.”

He looks up and can read the nerves all over her face, “You’re ready, Swan?”

“As I’ll ever be.” She gives him the same determined nod from before and gets out of the car. He follows suit and takes a deep breath before walking with her towards the arena. He uses the short trek to fall into character, almost forgetting to be “Hook” in Emma’s presence.

She makes it so easy to be just Killian— to  _ want _ to be just Killian. 

They take one more deep breath in unison before walking through the large glass doors into the brightly lit arena. 

. . .

The first thing she notices is the familiar smell of concession food, followed closely by the absolute blinding light of the arena’s fluorescents. She resists the urge to grab Killian’s hand like she did in the car, but she could really use a sturdy reminder she’s not alone. She hazards a glance to her side, the reminder of his presence enough for now. They make it maybe 300 feet without anything happening. 

Then, with the flash of a camera, it feels like everything is happening at once. 

_ “Miss Swan!” “Over here!” “Savior!” “Emma Swan!” “Why did you leave?” “Why come back now?” “Why Hook?” “Hook!” “Jones!” “Mr. Jones, quick question!” “Swan! Jones! Right here!”  _

It’s worse than she imagined and she can’t help but wish she had somewhere to hide. Sometimes it’s a good thing Killian can practically read her mind. 

She feels him tower over her and her nose bumps into his back. “Stay behind me, Swan. It’ll be alright.” She nods against him as he pushes through the crowd. She hears him mutter a few “excuse me”s and “no comment”s, not giving the press much of anything. He’s also doing a good job of remaining mostly calm. As his manager, she should probably be encouraging him to talk to the press, but it’s hard to want to give them anything when they act like this. She  _ hates _ the press. 

He can make a statement later– right now she just wants to get to their seats. 

And they do, the usher stopping the press at the entrance to their floor seats. As soon as they walk through the tunnel, Killian finds his place back at her side and she smiles at him gratefully, not sure she’s calm enough to form words right now. He makes sure she’s settled before sitting next to her. “You alright, Swan? I despise those bloody pricks.”

She chuckles, his words mimicking her thoughts almost exactly, “Ha, me too. No harm, no foul though.” Emma watches the tension leave his body and can’t help but notice the muscles in his neck relax. She realizes she’s staring and speaks up to fill the void between them, “Thank you, by the way.” She looks away, not used to being taken care of by someone other than the Nolan’s or Ruby. 

“Don’t mention it, love. Now I should probably make some sort of statement–” He scratches behind his ear, seemingly hesitant to leave her. 

“Yeah, for sure… I suppose I should be telling  _ you _ that.” He smiles and she nods, an unspoken reassurance that she’ll be alright. 

It takes almost a half hour before Killian returns, Emma is nose deep in predictions for tomorrow night’s card and jumps when he clears his throat. “Jesus, Killian. You scared the shit out of me.” 

“Apologies, lass. Your purse seems to be saving my seat.” She laughs as she moves her purse– studying him as he sits. Killian seems to be in a much better mood than before and she hopes that means his statement went well. 

“How’d it go?” She’s not sure why she says it so nervously, but she can’t help but feel this intense energy between them whenever there isn’t something concrete to talk about. It’s weirdly comforting and not at all unwelcome. 

Another thing that scares the shit out of her. 

“Quite alright, Swan. Don’t worry, Regina won’t fire you yet.” He winks and she realizes she wasn’t asking as his manager but rather as a genuinely curious friend. She supposes she should be more focused on her actual job than the man she’s supposed to be doing it for, but she can’t seem to shake him. She doesn’t want to. She rolls her eyes and he smiles brighter. “In all seriousness, love. It went well. I talked up my  _ brilliant  _ new manager and how excited I am to get back into the octagon.” 

She stiffens at the mention of her, nervous the questioning went further than she’d like it to. She trusts Killian, but the paparazzi are brutal.  “Relax, Swan. I didn’t take any questions.” He has this uncanny knack for always knowing what to say– and what not to say. He ends the conversation and steers it into more comfortable waters, “Popcorn?” 

She snorts, not realizing he’s had a red and white striped bag in his hand this entire time, “Thanks, but isn’t concession popcorn a huge step outside your strict training diet?”

He throws his head back in a genuine laugh Emma’s only been able to witness a handful of times, “Yes, Swan. Butter and salt are most  _ definitely  _ not allowed.” His gaze turns sincere and Emma can’t help but gulp a bit. “I didn’t do it for me.” 

She knows on the surface they’re talking about the popcorn, but deep down, she also knows he’s implying so much more. Everytime Killian talks, it’s laced with innuendos and double meanings, and while Emma should be scared that those double meanings are becoming more heartfelt than flirty, she can’t find it in her to be anything but excited. For someone who has run her entire life, her heart seems pretty intent on staying right here. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and as weigh-ins begin, she finds comfort in his presence, completely forgetting about the fact they’re headed back to the same hotel room and into uncharted waters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE we're getting there... this weekend is the catalyst. Thanks for coming along on this ride with me :) 
> 
> So much love to my beta <3
> 
> Come flail with me on Tumblr @capthamm!


	9. Chapter 9

“Whoever invented folding chairs deserves a swift kick in the arse.” He points his fork at Emma as they talk over dinner. Her eyes sparkle with joy and he knows instantly he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

“Jeeze, Jones, you  _ are _ ancient.” She laughs, eyes rolling sarcastically, as she takes another sip of her rum and coke. 

A woman after his own heart. 

They’ve fallen into this easy conversation ever since he returned with the popcorn a few hours before– had he known that was the direct way to being her friend he would’ve bought an entire popcorn factory _ months _ ago. Emma watched the weigh-ins casually, knowing the ropes as much as anyone would, and it allowed them to bond a little over the sport which brought them together. 

_ Thank God for UFC. _

When she suggested they grab dinner at a restaurant beside the hotel, he hesitated at first, not wanting to push his luck, but when she took his hand and told him today should be a “cheat day”, he couldn’t have resisted if he tried. She definitely teased him for ordering a salad but he assured her that his youthful glow does require some maintenance. That’s all it took for the conversation to continue flowing as easy as ever. He glances towards his watch and realizes they’ve been talking non-stop for over an hour, Emma’s plate completely empty as the waiter takes it away. 

He’s about to ask for the check when Emma speaks up, “Could we see the dessert menu, please?”

She smirks at him when he raises an eyebrow in question, before studying the small menu like she’d be tested on its contents. Emma ultimately orders strawberry shortcake before turning to him once again, “I always order dessert. I couldn’t have it for so many years when I was fighting and then with the morning sickness and then trying to get back to pre-baby weight… I just decided I shouldn’t have to live without dessert anymore… sure, I have to work a  _ little  _ harder at the gym each week, but it’s so worth it.” She’s interrupted by the waiter returning. He sets the red sugary cake in front of her and she turns to smile and give him her thanks before digging in. 

Killian watches her in awe, entirely convinced there isn’t a single thing he doesn’t like about her. 

She realizes he’s staring and chuckles before taking another bite, the blush rising on her high cheekbones. “Would you like some, Jones? You can’t really call it a cheat day if you order salad.”

He’s never  _ had  _ strawberry shortcake, but he’s positive he could never deny her anything, “Aye, Swan, just a bite.” He looks around for his fork, blushing himself when he realizes the waiter has already cleared it. She shrugs, unphased, and portions off a small bite for him. He grabs the fork from her, their fingers barely touching, but the electric currant shooting through his veins all the same. He has to withhold dirtier thoughts as he puts her fork in his mouth, now entirely aware of the tension building between the two of them. He swallows the slew of innuedos with the cake. Emma is looking at him expectantly, as though somehow his review of this entirely too sweet concoction will determine whether or not she likes it as well. 

He smiles at the thought more than the dessert, but she seems satisfied. She takes her fork back and smiles. “What’s your favorite dessert?”

The question catches him off-guard. While seemingly trivial, it’s more personal than they’ve ventured thus far. (Besides the random truths Emma seems to drop out of nowhere.) He’s taken aback by her desire to know  _ him _ , and has to hold down the one million questions he wishes to ask her. “I’ve never been much for dessert…” She gives him an entirely unamused look and he can’t help but laugh, “No, Swan, it’s true!”

“You  _ have  _ to have at least one guilty pleasure treat, Killian.” 

He does. His mother’s chocolate cake.  _ Did she just call him Killian?  _ He takes a deep breath, knowing full well this could open up to deeper questions than favorite dessert. “Aye, love. I suppose I always loved my mother’s chocolate cake.” 

She studies him, probably to make sure he’s answering truthfully, and then frowns, “Loved?” 

He knew this was coming, and he wants her to know, but it doesn’t make it any easier. “Aye. My mother passed when I was 11.” He waits for pity or an “I'm so sorry” but it never comes. Instead she takes a deep breath of her own. 

“That’s probably the  _ real  _ reason I love dessert so much. You never really get any when you’re a foster kid.” 

She meets his eye and the air is taken from his lungs.  _ She understands. _ It feels like a ton of bricks has been lifted off his chest, and  _ she understands.  _ All he can do is smile and nod, but he hopes she knows he understands too. 

Emma smiles softly before declaring she’s “stuffed”. They call for the waiter and Emma insists she put it on the company card– “They’re only paying for one hotel room anyway.” 

He chuckles, but nerves wash over him as her casual reminder of the situation which awaits them back at the hotel hits him like a high kick.  _ Bloody hell. _

. . . 

Killian Jones is  _ really _ easy to talk to. So easy that it’s not until they’re walking back to the hotel that she even realizes she told him about her upbringing. 

_ What the hell, Emma? _

Her comfort level with Killian is something she’s hard pressed to ignore, but as they unlock the door to  _ their  _ room, she finds herself forced to confront it far sooner than she wanted to. She can’t help but track his every move as he leads her into the hotel room. He walks straight for the small sofa and she watches the muscles ripple through his arms as he lifts his duffle bag onto it. Sometimes she forgets he’s  _ Killian “Hook” Jones _ the athlete and not just– well, just Killian. It’s times like this that she’s reminded how  _ fit _ he is. When he realizes she hasn’t moved, Killian shoots a questioning look over his shoulder and Emma shakes herself out of it– whatever  _ it  _ is. 

He scratches behind his ear and she can’t help but laugh, breaking the increasingly tense silence between them. “Uh… I’ll grab the couch, lov–Swan. I’m sure there’s extra blankets in here somewhere. Do you want to clean up first?”

Emma’s chest hurts when he shys away from calling her love, but can’t find it in herself to blame him– the word in this context threatening to hang between them like something more than a pet name. She nods in response and heads into the small bathroom. She immediately runs the cold water, splashing it over her face in an attempt to realign her senses. Emma stares at her reflection in the mirror and can’t help but notice she seems brighter, maybe even happier. 

She ignores the twing in her gut telling her why. 

Finishing up her nightly routine, she heads back into the main area to find Killian laying on the couch and scrolling through his phone. Emma holds back a giggle at the sight of the almost 6 foot man stretched across an equally long couch. He looks up when she flips on the lamp next to the bed and gives her a tight smile before heading into the bathroom himself. When she hears the shower turn on, she takes a deep breath, thankful for at least a small moment of alone time. She looks at the couch where he’s set up and can’t help but feel a bit guilty– the queen sized bed suddenly feeling way too big for one person. 

_ Shit. _

Emma makes up her mind as Killian unlocks the bathroom door and turns out the light. She works up the nerve to actually say something, but is only convinced when she sees him try and situate himself on the couch again. With a deep breath, she tries to hint at her decision casually, “That cannot possibly be comfortable.”

Killian jumps a bit at the sound of her voice and she snorts. The blush rises in his cheeks before he answers, “It’s quite alright, lass. I’ve slept on worse; at least I have a pillow.” He winks and she can’t stop her eyes from rolling dramatically. She knows he’d probably sleep on the floor if that was the only option, but she’s not  _ evil _ . 

“We’re both adults. I’m sure we can handle sharing a bed.” She doesn’t look him in the eye, finding a chip in the paint just above his right shoulder a safer place to land. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the smirk drop off his face. 

“You don’t have to–”

She waves him off, finally making eye contact (fully aware he won’t move unless she does), “It’s  _ fine,  _ Jones. You can’t sleep on that couch, Robin will  _ kill  _ me if I fuck up your back.” 

He laughs at the mention of his trainer and seems to relax a bit. “If you’re sure?” 

She scoots to the left and pats the bed next to her, solidifying her decision. Killian smiles tightly before grabbing the pillow and blanket off the couch and sliding in next to her. Ever the gentleman, he continues to scroll through his phone. 

Even still, Emma is  _ positive _ he can hear her heart beating at  _ least _ 180bmp. 

She knows he’s following her lead, he’d probably sit up straight all night if that’s what she did. With a soft sigh, she lays down, grabbing her phone to set an alarm for the morning. “I’m gonna get up around 7. I hope that’s not too early?”

“Seven is perfect, love. I’m an early riser.” Killian looks at her when he says it _ – love– _ and she swears all the oxygen leaves her body. There’s probably nothing  _ actually _ intimate about the way he’s staring at her, but the situation has Emma’s nerves firing on all cylinders. 

“Oh. Great. I just usually take my morning run…” She trails off, realizing Killian doesn’t need an explanation, turning her head back to her phone as a much needed reprieve from the intensity of his eyes. She’s grateful when he breaks the silence. 

“Aye, Swan. Me as well. Maybe…” He pauses and she looks up at him again. He shakes his head and turns back to what looks like a Twitter feed.

_ He’s nervous. _

“Maybe you can join me! I’m not familiar with the area so it’d probably be safer… for both of us.” She’s not sure where it came from but her invitation is genuine. The nerves leave his face and are replaced with a boy-ish grin. 

“I’d like that.” She takes in his smile and is pretty sure Michaelangelo couldn’t have chiseled someone so stunning. 

_ Get a grip, Emma. _

“Awesome. 7 it is then. Goodnight, Killian.” She doesn’t realize she called him Killian until she hears his breath hitch slightly. She rolls over, facing away from him before she does something absolutely stupid. The click of his phone locking signals his decision to sleep as well, and she feels him shift on his side of the bed. As his movement stops, Emma is able to fully relax, beginning to doze off much quicker than she expected. Right before she falls asleep completely, she swears she hears him speak in a soft whisper. “Goodnight, love.”

When she wakes up to his legs entangled in hers, she pretends to sleep as long as she can, taking in every moment of the early morning peace before she inevitably has to wake up. She manages to keep her breath even and eyes closed long enough for Killian to wake up and slowly work his way out of the bed. Even though the loss of his body heat feels like being shoved in a freezer, she stays still until she hears the click of the hotel room door. It’s then that she sits up, running her fingers through her hair and catches a brief whiff of his scent he left behind. She misses it the moment it dissipates. 

_ Emma Swan, you are fucked. _

. . . 

The sun streaming through the window is the first clue that Killian isn’t in his flat– room darkening curtains being his only hope of sleeping past 5am– the second is the bright white pillow reflecting said sun beneath his head, and the third is the feeling of soft legs entangled in his own. It takes every ounce of muscle control he has not to move. As he takes in his current situation, he smells the sweet scent of vanilla which he can only trace to the mop of blonde curls which seem to have taken up residence on his chest. He subtly pinches himself in the side, positive this is just one of the many dreams he’s had of this nature. 

He’s both parts relieved and terrified to realize he doesn’t need to wake up because he’s already wide awake. 

He knows if Emma gets up now, any chance he has at waking up this way ever again, will run (probably literally) out the door. Reluctantly, he moves out from underneath her, feeling the loss of connection instantly and missing it just as suddenly. Grabbing his phone he checks the time. 6:30. He has another half hour before she wakes up, but he can’t risk losing her already… not when he hasn’t even had the chance to  _ have  _ her. He gets up from the bed and quietly leaves the room to grab them some coffee from the continental breakfast. 

When he makes it back to the room, Emma is scrolling through her phone, fully dressed for their run. He checks his watch and finds it’s still before seven so she must have woken up on her own. He’s not sure what to say, but she looks up at him and he can’t help but apologize, “Good morning, Swan. I’m sorry if I woke you.” 

“Morning. I– uh– woke up and you were gone.” She eyes the coffee cup in his hand, “Is that for me?”  He smiles at her and nods before reaching out to give her the correct cup. Her “coffee” is basically milk and sugar with a splash of coffee, and she would probably be unpleasantly surprised to taste his black brew. As she returns to her phone, sipping carefully on the hot beverage, Killian grabs his workout clothes from his duffle and heads into the bathroom to change. 

Going on a run with Emma was probably not his best idea. For one thing, she's insanely athletic, always three or four paces in front of him, but mostly it's the way she  _ looks _ . Her heavy breaths up and down as the sweat drips down her sharp face… not to mention the yoga pants. 

He’s going to need a  _ very  _ cold shower after this. 

They ultimately run about 8 miles before ending up back at the hotel doubled over and trying to catch their breath. “Not bad, Jones… you know, for an old man.” He’s entirely out of oxygen but can’t help but laugh as she smirks at him and cracks a joke. 

He wants forever to be like this. Has he said bloody hell? Because  _ bloody hell.  _

They walk back into the hotel, grabbing water bottles from the small convenient store, and heading up to their room. The entire time Killian feels like he’s walking on air. Emma is chatty and smiling and he’s stunned that he has played even a small part in that. She walks into the room before him, turning around to ask him if she can jump in the shower first and all he can do is smile and nod. In his time alone, he realizes he’s entirely too infatuated with someone who is completely off limits. Since he picked her up at her apartment yesterday, they’ve felt more like friends than coworkers and after last night, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want even more than that. 

He  _ can’t.  _

It’s not that he’s worried about his career– fuck the UFC for all he cares– but Emma has Henry to worry about and she’s worked hard to get to where she’s at; he can’t ruin that for her. He vows to himself that he won’t let whatever feelings he’s grown for her affect her life. He watches how she moves about that life, determined and courageous, and he falls a little harder every single day. He can’t do  _ anything  _ to ruin that. Seeing her soft smile when she finally exits the bathroom only solidifies his determination to do right by her; keep things on the side of business casual and make sure her career kickstarts. By all means Emma doesn’t need his help, but an extremely successful client couldn’t hurt. He silently adds a resolution to train, fight, and promote to the absolute best of his ability to his vow. He’ll win that belt and he’ll do it for her. He’ll do it all for her. 

As if there’s another option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Things are heating up!! Will they/won't they to the max!
> 
> Much love to my beta <3 
> 
> come flail with me on Tumblr! @capthamm


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO so so sorry for the delay. I've been finding inspiration elsewhere (evident in the all the one shots recently ;]). This chapter is a bit shorter........ Enjoy!!!!

She and Killian spend most of the day before early prelims just lounging in the hotel room and Emma honestly couldn’t have asked for anything better. Before she knew it, Killian was opening the door of the car Regina arranged for them and she was sliding into the backseat. She pulls out her phone as Killian walks around the back of the car and gets in next to her. Looking at him would cause a world of problems, so she keeps her eyes trained on her phone. When he walked out the bathroom fully dressed for the night, Emma had to physically stop herself from staring. He was in dark jeans and a deep blue button up– she calls it that generously.  _ Honestly, does the man  _ **_know_ ** _ how buttons work? _ The tuft of chest hair sticking out the top left more than enough for her imagination, and Emma was left trying desperately to think of another man who had this effect on her. 

The answer is none. 

It didn’t happen instantly, like she knows it did for Ruby who talked about “jumping his bones” two minutes after meeting him, but the more time Emma spent with Killian the more she found herself thinking about him in ways a manager should definitely  _ not _ be thinking about her client. Sure, she knew he was attractive– anyone with eyes can see that– but the want to be with another person has always happened later for her. Emma supposes her lack of one night stands and overall abhorrence to being hit on are shining examples of how she moves about life. 

With Killian it’s different. 

_ She  _ kissed _ him.  _

Emma had almost forgotten that detail. Not the kiss– because how could she. Emma had all but ignored the fact that she initiated it. It’s so unlike her– that want– but with Killian it comes naturally. She hazards a glance to her left and sees him looking at her quizzically. When he catches her gaze he speaks up, “Something the matter, Swan?”

She shakes her head and turns to look out the window. Maine is largely boring, mostly just trees and the occasional billboard, but the landscape is safer than Killian’s worried look. He eventually speaks up, breaking the forced silence, “Look, Swan, I know you’re nervous about the press, but really it’ll be alright, I’ll see to it–”

“I don’t need you to protect me.” It comes out sharper than she wants it to, a mix of nerves about the press and about the man next to her bubbling to the surface. Emma refuses to look in his direction. 

“Aye, love. I’m well aware.” He gives her one last glance before unlocking his phone and spending the rest of the car ride in silence. 

They arrive at the arena, the car pulling up to the backdoor so they can enter without too much drama. Emma recognizes a few of the security guards, giving them tight smiles as she passes. Killian remains close, but slightly behind her. She doesn’t blame him for avoiding her, she’d do the same if roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. She turns around to find him walking with what can only be described as a  _ swagger _ . 

That’s when it hits her. Killian isn’t avoiding her at all– the Killian she knows isn’t here– this is  _ Hook _ . 

She snaps out of her shock thanks to a high-pitched voice, “Hook!” Emma’s head snaps to look at whoever is calling for Killian and is unable to stop her eyeroll. 

She hears  _ Hook _ speak from behind her, “Ahhh, lady Bell. Fancy seeing you here, Tink.” He walks past her as he approaches Tina “Tinker” Bell– in Emma’s opinion the  _ worst  _ ringname in the league. Tina practically throws herself at Killian as he kisses her knuckles in greeting, but it’s the blush that grows across Tina’s face that sends Emma over the edge. 

“Were you– are you– did you two?” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, but as Tina’s stare levels with Emma’s, she stands her ground all the same. 

Then Killian opens his big mouth, “Perhaps.” He’s grabbing his belt buckle and doing something absolutely stupid with his tongue. Emma shoots him a look before turning back to Tina. 

“I’m Emma, Emma Swan. Killian’s new manager.” She sees the sparkle return to Tina’s eyes at the mention of their professional relationship and Emma can’t help the bubbling of jealousy in her stomach. 

“I know who you are,  _ Savior _ . Shame we couldn’t get more acquainted in the ring before you quit.” It takes everything in Emma not to introduce  _ Tink _ to her fist. “I should be going anyway. I’ll see you later, Hook. I’m at the Hampton.” She winks and Killian smirks as she walks away. 

Disgusting. 

. . .

Emma mumbles for Killian to follow her as they find their seats and his stomach is in knots. He knew being anything other than Hook with Tina would be poor for his public image, but he didn’t expect it to have such an effect on his “Emma” image. It doesn’t sit right with him for the entire round of early prelims and when she leaves for the bathroom during intermission he’s at a loss. He decides to ease up on the persona a bit while she’s away, even ordering two beers and a bag of popcorn, but as Emma returns, he never gets the chance. Before he can so much as apologize for his behavior, Tina is sliding into the seat next to him chatting his ear off about her upcoming fight. He doesn’t even turn to look at her, opting to stare lasers into the side of Emma’s head hoping she gets all the telepathic messages he’s sending her way. 

She doesn’t look up from her phone once. Not as the lights dim and Tina heads back to her seat, not as the entrance music starts, and even as the fight begins, her eyes are trained on her phone. 

_ Fuck. _

The first fight is a knock-out in practically record time leaving a longer break before the second fight begins. Taking this as a sign, Killian starts to turn towards Emma when she rounds on him first. “Honestly, Jones, what the fuck was that?”

He deserves this– that doesn’t mean he wants to do it here. 

“Can we head into the concourse, love?” She looks like she’s about to say no, but shocks him when she nods slowly and starts to get up from her seat. He walks behind her with all the outward swagger of  _ Killian “Hook” Jones _ but all the inward confidence of a kid caught smuggling candy bars in the grocery store. As soon as she hits the concourse hallway she veers left into a small alcove and whips towards him. She doesn’t speak. 

_ Here goes nothing, Jones. _

. . . 

He scratches behind his ear and as infuriated with him as she is, she has to force herself not to smile– she makes him  _ nervous.  _ “Lo– Swan, I have a reputation…” 

Of  _ course _ he does. She’s not sure why she cares, but jealousy flairs up inside her again. Suddenly she’s finding it very difficult to look him in the eye. Emma goes to turn away, but he grabs her elbow forcing her to look at him again. “...and I assure you that’s all it is. I am well aware what a mess  _ actually  _ sleeping around can cause– especially for my manager– and, to be quite frank, Swan, I’m not all that interested in ladies who throw themselves at me.” He wiggles his eyebrows, fully aware of the double meaning that holds. 

Emma is actively willing her face to remain neutral as she responds, “Tina didn’t seem to think it was that  _ fake _ of a reputation.” She knows that accusation will sting, but he sort of deserves it… right?

Killian scrubs his hand over his face, clearly warring with what to say next. He sighs before he speaks again, “Swan, I promise you nothing has happened between Tink and I despite her ever present attempts to do so. Nothing has ever happened between me and another fighter– female or otherwise.” He says it with such sincerity that Emma feels a lump in her throat. She can’t let him know that his admittance means more to her than simply warding off a PR nightmare. 

“As long as you’re sure… I need to know your skeletons, Jones. I can’t have something unearthing right before your fight that I wasn’t aware of.” She’s being vague on purpose, not sure Killian is the type of man to really  _ have _ skeletons– he seems like more of a “wear it on your sleeve” sort of guy. That’s precisely why Emma does not expect the immediate change in the atmosphere surrounding them. He nods tightly, before giving her a forced smile. 

“Noted, love.” When she smiles at him promptly ending their “fight”, his smile turns genuine and she realizes once more just how handsome he is. Killian looks like he’s about to speak when the entrance music for the next fighter starts and they both jump, breaking whatever  _ moment _ they were having. He scratches behind his ear again– it’s honestly unfair how adorable that is– and speaks up, “Shall we venture back to our seats?”

She nods and takes his hand– when did that start being a thing she just  _ does _ – leading them back to their seats. 

. . . 

The rest of the night is largely uneventful, the crowd is subpar and the fights are pretty standard. Killian can’t find it in himself to care. Emma has been chatting up a storm about anything and everything and he’s entranced by her passion for all things UFC and just for life in general. Despite the card being largely disappointing, he’ll be the first to say it was one of the most entertaining nights he’s had in awhile. As soon as the tension between them left– the  _ reputation _ talk finally out of the way– Emma didn’t seem to mind when he would have to flip between Killian and Hook, even cracking a few jokes about Jekyll and Hyde. 

Maybe they could  _ do  _ this. 

By the time the main event is over, neither of them are the wiser, far too engrossed in a conversation about which stadium has the best popcorn– if he had only known…  _ popcorn _ . She chuckles when he makes her aware of the rest of reality despite his intense desire to stay in this comfortable bubble they’ve created over the last four hours. 

As they stand to leave, Killian spots a hoard of paparazzi out of the corner of his eye. He feels Emma tense besides him, the same overwhelmed feeling clearly passing over her. 

_ “Hook!” “Killian Jones!” “Emma! A word quickly please!”  _

Killian stands and notices a physical shift in Emma. The bright smile turns into a professional grin as she turns to command the room, “Mr. Jones will take three questions and three questions only so make them good. I know you all have time to fill but Hook is here to enjoy his evening, not chat with you.” 

Emma taking control of the situation is no surprise to him, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t absolutely stunning to watch in real time. The reports immediately simmer down, holding out their mics towards him waiting for him to speak– not him… not the  _ real  _ him anyway. As he shakes out his shoulders and slips into the very persona he had hoped to finally table for the night, he sees a flash of panic behind Emma’s eyes and he’s never hated the UFC more. He gives her a soft reassuring smiling before turning to the crowd.

“Hello, mates. What’d you like to know?”  _ Smirk. _

Emma points to a shorter woman in the back, calling her by name, “Jasmine.” 

“Yes, thank you Sav- Miss Swan. Mr. Jones, how do you feel about the breaking announcement that your upcoming fight will be against ‘The Fire’ Neal Cassidy?”

Killian’s first thought is “ _ Who is Neal Cassidy? _ ”, but when he turns to look at Emma and the color drains from her face, all he can think is, “ _ Who is Neal Cassidy... to Emma?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come flail with meeeeee! @capthamm on Tumblr.
> 
> This is where it gets good. Patience!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again 😭 Long time no see 😳 Enjoy!

As fast as her smile faded, Emma’s mask slips back on and she answers for him, “Mr. Jones was unaware of this development and will not be answering any further questions. 

She turns away from the reporters, each of them arguing with her decision, but Killian knows better than to question her right now. He gives them all a wink to stay “in character” and turns to follow Emma– scratch that, _chase_ after Emma. She’s practically at a dead sprint, and he’s trying to keep up with her while simultaneously calling them a car. It’s not until she’s out of the stadium that she finally stops, taking a deep breath of fresh air and pacing. He reaches out towards her, words of worry on his tongue when she turns towards him. He drops his hand to his side. “Not here. I will explain, but not here.” He nods, unsure of how else to help excluding pulling her into his arms which he’s not entirely sure would help the situation at all. Luckily the car arrives quickly and they’re on the road without further incident. 

Emma doesn’t speak for the entire ride back to the hotel. 

Or for the next forty-five minutes as they nurse seperate tumblers of rum at the dimly lit hotel bar. 

Killian is desperately curious as to just who this Neal fellow is, but resists the urge to privately google him. Emma deserves to tell him why she reacted that way— who Neal is to her— if that’s what she wishes. He absent-mindedly watches the recap of the fights on SportsCenter as Emma practically chews a hole through her bottom lip pausing only to take a sip from her glass. He can’t help but stare, even visibly perplexed in horrible lighting Emma is the most radiant woman he’s ever seen. She catches him looking and meets his eye before he can shy away. Emma sighs, finishing the rest of her rum and signaling for another, before turning to Killian, “I suppose I should start at the beginning…”

He can tell she’s nervous and attempts to lighten the mood, “Aye, lass, that’s usually where all tales begin.” He winks and she cracks a small smile disrupted only by a larger sigh than the first. 

“I was 18, just started training at the UFC gym on a scholarship for athletics I received in high school. It was _technically_ supposed to go towards college but that wasn’t really my thing. It didn’t take very long for me to realize I was good… _really_ good. Gold wanted me on Contender Series almost immediately and my career jump started before I could say ‘Ultimate Fighting’. Well, the higher ups weren’t the only ones who noticed.” Emma pauses. Killian wants to ask so many questions, but is nervous to break the very thin thread of trust they’re walking right now. He nods slightly so she knows he’s listening and she gives him a tight-lipped smile. 

“He was older and already established in the league. He– he took me under his wing and showed me the ropes– media, fight nights, training, all that. Neal was my best friend…” She hesitates again and Killian uses every ounce of willpower not to grab her hand. “...and then he was more than that. We were always so careful but he had just won a huge fight and even got the Fight of the Night bonus. A little drunk– and not just on adrenaline– shit happens.” Emma hangs her head in her hands and Killian starts to put two and two together. 

  
“Henry…” It comes out in a whisper, and entirely by accident. Emma’s eyes meet his and he expects anger but he just sees relief– _he_ understands. 

“Nothing gets past you.” She says it half joking and through the sting of rum, but he knows this is further in her story than she would usually dare to go. “Found out I was pregnant with his kid as his career was gaining momentum and that was that. I also found out he’d been betting on my fights based off what I told him in training and winning a shitload of money. So for whichever reason— maybe a combination of both— he left, blocked my number, and I was left with a positive pregnancy test and an empty apartment. It sucked, but it wasn’t long before I decided I was better without him. I left the sport and the minute I looked into Henry’s eyes, I knew I’d never be back in that ring.” 

Killian has never wanted to knock someone out more. He can feel his fist clenching and tries to stop his jaw from tightening. Killian tries to tell himself that it’s not his place to be angry over something that happened to Emma– his heart doesn’t seem to care. “You didn’t deserve that, Swan.” 

Emma nods. “I know that– now. I’ve come to terms with it.”

“Pardon my forwardness, love, but if your reaction back there is any indication I’d say that’s not true.” She goes to argue and he raises his hand to continue, “Not that I would blame you. I like a right crack at the bloke…” 

Emma bursts out laughing, interrupting him. “Well, it _appears_ you’re going to get your chance, Jones. And I _am_ over it, just… wasn’t expecting the question– or you to be fighting him.”

Killian must give a questioning look because she sighs once more, “He’s been out of the league for awhile, working behind the scenes with his dad I’d imagine…” 

“I’m sorry, love, his dad?”

“Gold.” The hair on the back of his neck stands up, realizing how deep Neal Cassidy’s blood runs in the league– clearly the reason he ran. 

“Ah. Well, Swan, I promise to give him hell in that octagon.” Killian tries to make a joke but Emma is clearly still weighed down by something. 

“Henry doesn’t know.” 

There it is. 

“He knows his dad is somehow connected to all this but he doesn’t know it’s Neal.” 

“Why haven’t you told him?” Killian asks the question before he can second guess himself. 

“I signed a NDA when Henry was born. Neal gave up his rights and I gave up child support and the right to tell Henry who his real father was. Once he turns 18, Henry can do whatever he wants, but I can’t— and don’t want to— tell him.”

“I would very much like to meet this Neal outside of the octagon.” She doesn’t need him to protect her, but he’ll gladly kick the arse of a man as despicable as that. 

“You and me both.” She ends the conversation with that statement. Ordering one more round for the two of them and turning towards the TV. Killian doesn’t pry; grateful for her trust. They chat about nothing, but Killian doesn’t miss the slight touches of her hand or the way her smile finally reaches her eyes. He can’t be sure, but it’s almost as if sharing her story took some of the weight off her shoulders; her past easier to carry on four shoulders rather than two. 

Killian is more than happy to share the burden.

. . . 

Emma feels lighter, maybe even happier. She _never_ intended on sharing her story with Killian but now that it’s out in the open she feels like the wall she was so certain would remain between the two of them has crumbled. She finds herself longing for small touches and even stealing small flirtatious glances. She’d have to be an idiot not to notice that Killian was sending them right back at her. 

This is uncharted territory. 

As they walk back to the hotel room, both slightly tipsy, the energy is reminiscent of the night they shared their first kiss– it scares her that she doesn’t seem to mind. When Killian unlocks the door, holding it open to follow her inside, the brush of his fingers on her back feel like lightning— a quick glance over her shoulder tells her he feels it too. Killian promptly excuses himself to the bathroom and Emma uses the brief moment to try and shake it out. 

She’s not sure why she thought _that_ would work. 

Killian smiles as he leaves the bathroom, grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge and handing one to her. If her fingers linger longer than they should have, but so do Killian’s. They sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed, and Emma reaches for the remote to fill the silence that is becoming uncomfortable in its safety. 

She catches her breath when Killian speaks up. “For what it’s worth, Emma, I would nev–” 

“I know.” It comes out without hesitation or thought. She meets his eyes briefly before inadvertently– yet not regrettably– glancing towards his lips. 

She’s shocked to find she misses them. 

That’s probably why she leans in a bit… she hopes that’s why he leans in too. Emma feels his fingers entangle in her hair. Their eyes meet and he pauses– it’s up to her. 

It’s always been up to her. 

Their lips meet and she’s internally kicking herself for waiting so long– and for their forced proximity turning them into a trope in a shitty romance novel. 

_Man, is he a good kisser._

They come up for air, Killian’s forehead never leaving hers and his thumb sending shockwaves through the nerves in her cheeks. She feels like she’s on fire in the best way imaginable– it's a new feeling, not one she even felt with Neal. It’s simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. As he softly kisses her collar bone, she’s positive they could light all of Boston with the energy between them. 

She leans in more, suddenly craving as much contact with him as possible. The want is foreign, but in no way uncomfortable. With Neal intimacy was a chore– something she did with as much enthusiasm as washing the dishes, but she’s only kissed Killian twice and ever since her mind has flooded with emotions she’d only seen in movies. 

She doesn’t want this feeling to end. 

Before she can stop it, Killian’s backing up and she feels the loss. As he rubs his hands over his face, Emma’s heart drops. 

She’s made a horrible mistake. Emma assumed she was picking up signals that she’s usually pretty blind to– apparently nothing has changed. “Killian, I–” 

“Don’t get me wrong, love. I really–” 

“I know, you don’t feel the same way. I shouldn’t have–” 

Killian grabs her by either side of her face, leveling with her, “Swan, I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment we met… and even more so since– since last time.” 

“But…” Emma knows there’s a but. 

“But… I need to know that this is what you want. That you aren’t getting swept up in some moment… I can’t–” 

Oh. “Killian, I don’t– I’m not– I just know I feel… something.” 

“Aye, love. As do I.” His eyes turn from worry to kindness and she feels herself catch back up with the intensity of her want. 

“Can that be enough for now?” It isn’t fair–to either of them– but Emma needs an out. She knows, without one, this will crash and burn before they’ve even started. 

“I am quite a patient man.” She isn’t sure if that’s an agreement to the murky terms she so haphazardly laid between them and shoots him a puzzled look. He chuckles softly, “Aye, love. I’ll gladly take whatever you give.” She smiles, finding comfort in moving at her own pace (which is as unknown to her as it is him). Emma leans in again, stealing a chaste kiss from him and he smiles. 

They silently agree to move towards the back of the bed, and she settles in tucked beneath Killian’s arm. He mostly comments about the show on TV, some procedural re-run he must’ve seen before. Emma listens intently, each word lighting a new spark inside of her. She’s been told love and intimacy were electric, but until recently she thought it was just an over exaggeration at best– now she’s positive it’s real. Between conversations they make-out like teenagers, but in small moments she feels Killian’s thumb brush across her hip bone or his lips gently kiss her temple and she’s never felt so alive. 

When morning comes, Emma finds herself in a similar position to the one she fell asleep in, Killian’s strong arms wrapped around her in a hug like none she’s ever felt before. She feels his breath move steadily against the back of her head and finds peace in his rhythmic nature. It’s probably that which allows her to slip back into sleep for another hour only waking when she feels Killian do so beside her. With a kiss to her shoulder, he promises coffee and gets up to retrieve it. 

The bed is cold without him in it. 

She can’t possibly be used to that already, can she? Before she has time to contemplate what that really means, she gets up to shower. Killian is back with coffee and donuts by the time she emerges from the bathroom. They’ve not said two words about last night, but Emma kisses him all the same as he hands her the hot cup. He seems surprised at first, most likely expecting her to backtrack on all they’d discussed the previous night, and Emma doesn’t blame him. That kiss is all it took for Killian to brighten up. The entire morning happy and chipper, even as they drive home and get stuck in traffic. 

Emma likes having that effect on him. 

Emma _likes_ him. 

As Killian pulls up to her apartment, Emma is so engaged in heated debate over hard shell vs. soft shell tacos that she doesn’t realize the time. This car ride goes _much_ quicker than the one to the hotel, their conversation flowing easily– so much so she even forgets about Neal. They exit the car, “Killian it is _impossible_ to eat tacos in a hard shell. They practically become nach–” 

“MOOOOOOM!”

Emma freezes, the reality of her situation hitting her like a train going full speed. 

Emma snaps out of it at the feeling of his head hitting her smack in the stomach. “Hi kid! I missed you!” Emma kisses the top of his head before he pulls back. 

She can tell the moment he sees Killian. 

“Oh my god. Mom?! That’s _Hook_!” She hears Killian chuckle and she can’t help the ping of happiness she feels in her gut. 

“Aye, lad. In the flesh.” Killian mock bows for Henry and she’s not sure she’s ever seen a smile so wide– on either of them. “You must be Henry?” 

She was wrong; _that is_ the widest smile she’s ever seen out of her son. The fear she felt has completely dissipated as she watches Killian interact with Henry. They hit it off immediately, Henry asking at least one hundred questions about the UFC and Killian answering each fully and genuinely. Her stomach flips. 

Emma’s so enamored with the scene in front of her that she almost forgets Mary Margaret had to have dropped him off. Emma practically jumps when she appears at her side. “Wow, he’s good with him.” 

“Stop.” 

Mary Margaret smiles, Emma’s shut down most likely a clear indicator of what’s happening between her and Killian. “Just saying.” 

“Thanks for watching him. I owe you a million.” 

Ms smiles brightly. “ _mAnytime_ .” The hidden meaning is not lost on Emma, but she’s not about to humor any of her friend’s shenanigans– at least not yet. “Bye Henry... Hook.” The boys wave and Emma swears her heart doesn’t do another belly flop. 

She never meant for Killian to meet Henry this soon, but she also never meant for Killian to happen at all. It’s weird how her life has a tendency to chew her up and spit her out in exactly the spot she needs to be. When she looks at the way he is with her son, and catches Killian’s slight glance towards her– smile bright and full– she’s startled to find she can’t imagine a scenario where this isn’t exactly where he’s meant to be, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re here, thank you. I know it was a long wait. I’ve been through some stuff recently and really needed a break from this world. I finally feel ready to dive back in— if you’ll have me ❤️
> 
> Desperately hope it was worth the wait! Much love and as always, come flail with me on tumblr @capthamm

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!
> 
> Kudos, comments, and flailing on social media is always appreciated :) Stay happy and healthy!
> 
> Twitter, Tumblr, AO3: capthamm


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